


Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes

by Scrimshaw Bones (FloatingWorldPictures)



Series: Time is an Illusion [1]
Category: Loki - Fandom, MCU, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Chitauri - Freeform, Coulson Lives, F/M, FRIGGA FOR PRESIDENT, Frigga Lives, Infinity Gems, Post-Avengers Asgard, Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, hope you like Loki, hope you like stubborn and headstrong and adorable female OCs, i don't know i'm bad at tags, thanos - Freeform, you already knew that but when I wrote this you didn't so...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 97,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloatingWorldPictures/pseuds/Scrimshaw%20Bones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While under house arrest, Loki accidentally discovers the location of a long-lost magical artifact. In order to possess its power to control time, Loki must convince its current owner, a young Midgardian woman named Celia, to cede the object’s loyalty to him. After whisking Celia away to Asgard and on the run from Thanos, can Loki manipulate her into trusting him?  Or has the trickster god met his match in the headstrong girl with a dark past of her own and the power to see right through him?  An adventure-romance saga that asks, is love the truest form of real power?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed and fully edited, fully posted work of 25 chapters plus an extended epilogue totaling just under 98,000 words. A sequel is underway.
> 
> This work takes place after the first Avengers movie. It more or less replaces Thor 2, although there really is no reason it couldn't fit in the middle of those two movies if you really wanted to keep Thor 2 in the mix. I try to adhere to MCU canon, but I refer liberally to comic versions of Asgardian goings-on and Norse mythology/Viking culture to fill gaps.
> 
> I appreciate your feedback so please leave comments if you have thoughts, and thanks for reading!  
> (For more of my work you can check out some of my Bucky fics under my Floating World Pictures pseud.)

* * *

**  
**

This tomb holds no body.  
This corpse has no grave.  
It is its own corpse.  
It is its own gravestone.  
     - Epigraph of Agathius Scholasticus, late antiquity, Greece  
        (translated by Michael Wolfe)

_Bored._  
_Bored, bored, bored, bored_ , Loki thought with each step as he paced from one end of the library to the next.  _So bored._   Weeks ago, he had been grateful when his books arrived unexpectedly, no doubt thanks to the intercession of his mother.  They helped alleviate the boredom of his house arrest.  Until he had read them all.  Some of them twice.  Surely Thor had demonstrated magnanimity to have arranged for him to be placed under house arrest rather than, well, something worse.  Now, months into his banishment to an island fortress near Asgard in the Sea of Space, Loki was beginning to wonder whether some quicker form of punishment wouldn’t have been preferable to this prolonged mental torture of sheer and utter boredom.  
    His maddening boredom had driven Loki to pick up a book on the rise and fall of past monarchies in Midgard, which he had always dismissed before as pointless and stupid.  But it had turned out to be quite instructive.  He read about how, on Midgard there was almost always some clever adviser influencing those dull monarchs and growing more powerful all the while.  The sorcerer Rasputin, for one.  Of course, one must learn from Rasputin’s mistakes.  It would never do to end up poisoned, clubbed, shot four times, disemboweled, and drowned, of course.  But the idea was there, if the execution was poor in that particular case.  
     Yes... Maybe Loki didn’t need an entire realm bent beneath his rule; maybe he only needed one or two of the realm in particular.  Odin.  Thor.  If they were indebted to him, so, too, would be Asgard itself.  He would make himself and his talents indispensable to the realm, somehow.  He would make them see how powerful he was in ways they couldn’t imagine or surpass.  Brute strength wasn’t everything.  And then they would all appreciate how important Loki was, how kingly he could be.  And soon enough, they would _all_ kneel before him and speak his name in loyalty.  Not because he had subjugated them, but because they _wanted him to rule them_.  That would be better.  Midgard had been...a catastrophe.  One Loki did not care to dwell on...  
    After Thor had returned Loki from New York to Asgard, there to be subject to justice for his role in commandeering the Tesseract and wreaking havoc on Earth, Loki expected harsh treatment.  He was prepared for it, even welcomed it.  After all, this wasn’t exactly his first offense against his brother, against the peace between the realms.  But Thor seemed more hurt than angry with Loki.  Thor seemed to blame himself, in fact, and could not bring himself to allow any harm to befall his brother.  “After all that has happened, I just want our family to be whole once more,” Thor had pleaded with his father.  “Place Loki under house arrest somewhere he can do no harm.  Perhaps once he realizes that he is a beloved member of this family despite his worst behavior, Loki will cease all of this mad scheming and things will go back to how they were between us.”  
   _Idiot, Thor._   His pity stung more than his rage would have.  Did he not see that the way things were before had caused all of this?  Could he not understand that Loki was sick and tired of his role as the perpetually lesser younger brother?  Not as big, not as strong, not as kingly.  Not even Asgardian, not really.  
    A servant walked into the library with a tray carrying Loki’s midday meal, interrupting his mental tirade.  Marooned on this island fortress along with him was an entire palace staff befitting a prince, to cook and clean and see to his day-to-day needs.  He was a pampered prisoner.  His powers bound and weakened, perhaps the most painful part of his punishment, there was little threat of his resistance or escape.  Armed guards were stationed only around the perimeter of the fortress, leaving Loki free to wallow and sulk in relative peace and solitude.  He suspected that the presence of the perimeter guards was as much for his protection as to prevent any misbehavior on his part; Thanos couldn’t be pleased at the outcome of the Midgard invasion and was sure to seek retribution at some point.        
    At first, Loki had treated the house staff with petulant hostility, but he willed himself to be more disciplined.  He wasn’t some common criminal but a prince of the realm, and these servants were not his jailers.  They were probably expected to inform on him, however.  He needed their sympathy.  
    Loki’s back was to the door, but he greeted by name the youth who served his meals.  
    “Thank you, Sindri,” Loki said without turning toward the boy, pretending to be absorbed in perusing the bookshelf that stood before him.  _You see, I am very busy with important matters.  I am not going mad like a caged and helpless creature.  I am very busy.  Very important._   It would never do for anyone to think he was suffering from this sentence.  He must appear dignified in his exile.  
    “Sir, a message came for you,” Sindri replied.  
    “Leave it there, please,” Loki waved one hand vaguely in the direction of his desk, turning away from the bookshelf as he pulled down a volume at random.  A history of the Vanir and their magic.  _Boring.  Read this one twice already_.  
    “I’m sorry, sir, I’m to wait for a reply,” Sindri said, shifting his gaze nervously around the room and finally to his feet.  Despite Loki’s best efforts at civility, despite his utter powerlessness here, the staff still seemed mostly frightened by him.  Well, he had been a bastard those first weeks...  
    Loki dropped the book onto the desk, sighing as though extremely put-upon to be interrupted when he was so very “busy.”  The heavy volume landed precariously on a pile of discarded books from the morning, causing them all to slide off the desk and tumble to the floor in a haphazard heap.  Loki glanced at Sindri, whose eyes flicked up to his, wide with apology.  _Oh, no._   They can’t think he was having a temper tantrum over being summoned by his brother.  Those were the only kinds of messages he received here.  
    “How clumsy of me,” he chuckled gently.    
    Sindri relaxed slightly and moved to pick up the books, but Loki held out his hands, “I’ll take care of them later.  I should see to the message.”  _You see how conciliatory I am?  You tell them when you deliver my reply._  
    He tore open the seal and glanced at the scrawled note.    
    “Loki,” it read:  
  _Mother wants to see you.  As do I, dear brother.  I am afraid there is an important matter to discuss regarding your past dealings with the Other.  Send word by this messenger if we might come tonight.  And, of course, if there is anything you require that we may bring you.  Your continued well-being is of great concern to us._  
_In brotherly affection,_  
_Thor_  
    The pretense that Loki had any say in the matter of a visit from his brother annoyed him exceedingly.  Obviously he was in no position to decline.  The request mocked him, forced him to be complicit in his own imprisonment.  _Oh, yes, let’s all pretend that I’m just inviting you over for a friendly visit.  Brotherly affection, indeed._   Of course, it would never occur to the great oaf that this treatment was maddening and offensive, a heaping insult upon a lifetime of injury.  Of course, Loki could never let on that it was, if he ever hoped to be released.  This plan -- no, just an idea, for now -- required some patience.  Some manipulation.  He’d gone about things all wrong before.  This would be better.  
    He smiled at Sindri.  “Please inform my brother’s messenger that we will eagerly expect him and my mother this night, and that I am perfectly content as he has already seen that my needs here are well attended.”    
    Loki would have written this reply, but he wasn’t allowed any writing materials.  Apparently they were concerned that he would attempt to communicate with some outside ally and, what?  Stage an escape?  An invasion of Asgard?  Not that he hadn’t considered it when he read about the Scottish Queen Mary on Midgard, imprisoned by her cousin and reduced to passing coded messages to her allies through the laundry or in trick beer barrels.  If only inter-dimensional communication were so simple.  Well, things hadn’t worked out very well for Queen Mary of Scotland, and in any case it was unlikely the Chitauri were his allies any longer, not after Loki lost the Tesseract _and_ the scepter.  Judging by his brother’s note, they were probably causing some trouble because of him.  Still, it warmed his cold heart to think that Thor believed him such a powerful threat that he was too dangerous to even wield a pen.  Ah, small comforts...  
    Loki waited until Sindri left the library before bending to pick up the pile of fallen books.  He smoothed the crumpled pages as he shut them and placed them back in a pile.  He didn’t much care either way, but it kept up appearances.  _Not bored, but in fact very busy.  Too busy to suffer from the effects of this punishment._  
    The book on Vanir magic was at the bottom of the heap.  Loki turned it over in his hands, treating it with care even if it was a boring tome he’d read twice over.  It had fallen open to a page with illustrations of a mythic locket which purportedly allowed its wearer to see the future, among other magical enhancements depending on the wearer’s abilities.  _Think of the power one could hold wielding that little trick_ , Loki thought wistfully.    
    The Vanir were known for their wisdom and ability to see the future, this he knew well from his reading.  The trouble was, they had been more or less absorbed into the Asgardian peoples after the war between their races long ago.  Vanir magic was ancient magic, the stuff of legend even in Asgard.  No one knew how to perform it any more, and many of the sacred objects required for the rites were long since lost.  
    Thumbing absently through the pages of the book, Loki paused on his favorite part in the Vanir history.  Frightened that their young princess would be kidnapped and forced into a betrothal that would cede her powerful potential as a seer and her claim to the Vanir throne to an Asgard monarchy, during the early days of the war the baby was secreted away from Vanaheim to another realm.  She was to be retrieved once she could safely ascend the throne in her own right, or once Vanaheim was secure, but things deteriorated quickly and she was never recovered.  None who had known her whereabouts survived.  It was not recorded what became of her.    
    Loki loved this tale because it reminded him of his own history.  Perhaps someone in Jotunheim, sometime, had wondered what became of Laufey’s infant son who had been hidden away somewhere, and then taken to another realm in the chaos of war.    
     _But no, of course they hadn’t_.  Because Loki had been too imperfect to belong there, just as he was here, and no one wanted him or thought of him at all.  They hadn’t hidden him away so much as left him to die.  Still, when he read of the lost Vanir princess, some small, fragile shred of childish hope inside him clung to the sweet possibility and discarded the bitter truth in spite of himself.

* * *

  
    Loki lay awake in his bed, staring through a crack in the darkness of his drawn bed hangings out into the starry sky.  Asgard shimmered gloriously in the distance.  He did not think of the meeting he’d had with his mother and brother that evening.  He did not picture in his mind the stoic expression Frigga wore, which hurt him more deeply than if she had wept or spoke harshly to him.  He did not go over his brother’s assurances that, despite the demands of the Other that Asgard hand Loki over to them, that they were considering taking him by force and the Tesseract as well, Asgard would defend Loki as one of their own and see to his safety.  But, Thor had added gently, “You would do well to lay low, brother, until this is all settled.”  As if Loki had any choice.  Thor standing up for him in this way cut Loki like a thousand tiny knives of indignity, as if he couldn’t handle his own affairs.  Ah, well, he was not so naive to think he had seen the last of his dealings with Thanos and the Other, whatever Thor may promise.  
    No, Loki did not think of any of this as he stared at Asgard, bright among the stars.  He was thinking of the long-lost Vanir princess.  The tale refused to lay still in his mind, insisting he turn it over again and again.  For no other reason than to have a purpose, not a glorious one, mind, but some imperative to drive his days and pass the time, Loki resolved to research the matter further.  _Just for something to do_ , he told himself.  It was better than moving his books from place to place at random to affect the pretense of something to do.  
    Drifting off at last, Loki dreamed of New York City.  The site of his failed invasion of Midgard, of his humiliation.  It was closed off now, with the Bifrost destroyed and the Tesseract under lock and key.  Thor forbade travel to that realm, ostensibly to let the dust settle but Loki suspected he knew the real reason.  Thor was genuinely terrified that someone would go there and hurt that human woman, Jane Foster, with whom he was so inexplicably enamored.    
    Loki’s dream was so vivid, it felt like he really had traveled to New York City, but no... That was impossible with his diminished powers and Thor’s order.  And yet... It felt very real.  And it was nothing like when he was there before, as a would-be conqueror.  He simply walked down the street, in broad daylight, like a pedestrian.  But no one looked at him, despite his usual green and black Asgardian clothing that stood out so abruptly amidst the bizarre costumes of Midgard.  A man walked by him wearing some sort of thin shirt, too short to be a tunic, that read, “If you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten.”  
     _What an odd thing to wear on one’s person_.  “Are you advertising your services as a bloody hand?” Loki called to the man, who paid him no notice whatever.  It was the strangest thing.  Loki could hear traffic rushing past, smell a nearby food vendor, feel on his face the bite of the wind on this overcast day.  It rustled his long, black hair as he walked.    
    He noticed that it also rustled the longer, blond hair of the young woman in front of him.  He seemed to be following her, but he knew not why or to where or for what purpose.  He gave himself over to the impulse, weaving between people on the street to keep her in his sight.  She carried a long, rolled up mat and wore tight black pants on her slim legs.    
    The young woman paused, turning slightly to glance over her shoulder.  
    Loki froze.  
    But she looked right through him.  “Jenny!” she called, waving.  
    “Hey, Celia!  Ready for some sweaty _namaste?_ ”  
    Another young woman carrying a similar rolled up mat and wearing the same black tights walked past Loki, grazing his shoulder but going past him as if he were not there.  Jenny hugged the blond girl Loki had been following, Celia, and they both made their way to the entrance of a building on the corner, chattering and laughing.  
    Suddenly the entire city paused.  The noise, the wind, even the scent of the pretzels stopped abruptly, except for Celia, who turned her head toward Loki again with a deliberate, unnatural movement, as though she were under water.  This time, she looked directly at him, into him.  Loki felt her eyes bore inside his body with such intensity she could have been counting his bones.  
    “The stone,” she whispered.  He heard it as though she had breathed it into his ear.    
    Loki reached toward her.  “What?  The stone?  What stone?”  
    But in an instant, the world sprang to life again, and Celia continued as if nothing had happened.  Loki ran to the building she had entered, peering through the window into a room filled with women laying on mats and stretching their limbs.  He did not see the blond girl or her friend.  Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he closed his eyes.  _What stone?_  
_What stone?_   Opening his eyes, Loki found himself staring up at his own bed hangings.  The dream clung to him, his skin tingling as through he'd fallen into a thicket of burs, every barbed detail as sharp as if it had just happened, as if it had been real.  He pictured Celia in his mind, blazing blue eyes in her pale face as she whispered the words he repeated to himself now.  _The stone_.  
    


	2. The Locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, in which Loki isn't the only one discovering compelling mysteries.

* * *

 

We dance around in a ring and suppose,  
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.  
Robert Frost, “The Secret Sits,” 1942

    _Bored._  
_Bored, bored, bored, bored_ , Celia thought with each tick of the clock.  The sound taunted her in the quiet, upper room of the yoga studio, where she lay with seventeen other women, sweat running down her back and causing her skin to stick uncomfortably to her mat.  She tried to put that out of her mind and concentrate on meditating.  You were supposed to, like, meditate or something during _savasana_.  Corpse pose.  Not her favorite.  _So bored_.     
    Celia more or less enjoyed yoga.  Well, she liked doing tricks like handstands or bending her legs into pretzels.  The portions of class that required a little more patience and a little less showing off...those were not exactly her strong suits.  Her best friend, Jenny, liked to joke that Celia practiced “prison-style yoga.”  She always had to have the longest balance or the most flexible backbend.  She liked to intimidate the other students in the class by ostentatiously warming up her over-splits.  “You only hate _savasana_ because you can’t do it with extreme prejudice,” Jenny would tease.    
    What could she say?  Celia loved competition, she just didn’t like being outperformed, up to and including lying flat on one’s back and being perfectly still.  _Eh, let them have corpse pose_ , Celia said to herself as she tried to not make a lot of noise shifting around on the sweaty rubber mat.  
    Restlessness getting the better of her, Celia opened one eye.  She turned onto her side to unstick herself from her mat and peer over at Jenny, who lay with her arms out looking perfectly serene and peaceful as her chest rose and fell slowly with her even, measured breaths.  Without moving any other part of her body, keeping her face completely still and her eyes closed, Jenny lifted her hand and pointed sternly in Celia’s direction, then down at the floor.  Celia stifled a groan as she rolled back to her mat and clenched her eyes shut.    
    It was a frustrating end to what had been a frustrating yoga class.  Just as she and Jenny were going into the studio, Celia had experienced a weird blackout, just for an instant.  One minute they were laughing about the inherent masochism of hot yoga, and then suddenly she got some kind of tunnel vision.  The sights and sounds of the city disappeared, as if stretched out of time, and all she saw was this crazy-intense cosplay guy staring at her and dressed like a weird video game action figure, with a green cape and long dark hair.  It lasted just a moment, but it kind of spooked her and left her body tingling as though it was charged with electricity.  Celia was afraid she’d had some kind of seizure or fit and so, in an uncharacteristic moment of self-preservation, she held back during her yoga session lest she keel over in the sweltering room.  
    But now she felt fine and rather silly that she’d wasted the class worrying.  How boring.  She was probably just tired.  Obviously that was it.  Still, Celia was quiet as the class filtered down the stairs and out onto the street.  She and Jenny walked in silence for a block before Jenny turned to her.  “Are you okay?  You seem very, I don’t know, not yourself...”  
    “Yeah?  No....I mean, I’m fine.  Tired.”  
    “Are they working you to death already?” Jenny asked.  Celia had just begun an internship at a prestigious auction house, but so far she mostly just ran a lot of banal errands for people and organized a filing cabinet of ancient catalogues.  
    “Oh, yeah.  It’s crazy.  Like _The Devil Wears Prada_ , but less warm and fuzzy,” Celia said brightly.  
    “So...Super-Seelie is just a little tired?”  Jenny replied, wryly.  
    “I guess so,” Celia tried to convince herself.  The girls walked a few more blocks in silence.  “Hey, Jen...?”  
    “Yeah?”  
    “You know how you like... _see things_ when you’re really worn out...?” Celia trailed off.  
    “Um...no.  What do you mean, see things?  Celia, are you okay”  
    “Oh, you know...yeah.  Never mind.  I am super exhausted,” Celia said quickly before changing the subject to Jenny’s celebrity crush and the vampire television show he was on.  Discussing the believability of vampire mythology, especially when it pertained to her favorite show, was a surefire way to distract Jenny.  _I could use a distraction myself_ , thought Celia.  She resolutely put the strange blackout incident out of her mind.

* * *

  
    Back at her apartment, Celia couldn’t shake the restlessness that had overcome her on her yoga mat.  She’d drawn a hot bath and attempted to relax, submerging herself in violet-scented bubbles.  But the bathtub walls felt like a coffin and the claustrophobic feeling drove her out before the water had even cooled.  She paced in her dressing gown, aimlessly wandering from room to room, picking things up and putting them down again.  But her apartment didn’t have that many rooms and after a few circuits, she felt more keyed up than ever.  
    With a frustrated sigh, she sat down on the floor in the hallway.  Celia knew she should be grateful that she had her own place in a nice neighborhood, but mostly it just reminded her that her parents were gone.  Mostly it was just kind of lonely.  She had inherited the apartment and an amount of money that secured her future.  This allowed her to pursue unpaid internships at auction houses and finish college and take fancy yoga classes.  She should be grateful for that.  And she was.  Some people lost their parents in horrible car accidents and then had to fend for themselves with nothing.  After three years, Celia still felt the loss spread through her body like the pain of plunging into icy water, but at least she still had her home.  Their home.    
     _Our home._  
    Celia found herself standing up and making her way into her parents’ bedroom.  She hadn’t touched it, hadn’t moved a single item.  Frequently, she would enter the room with careful reverence and look around, trying to relive the moment captured in the tableau: a book lay on her father’s nightstand, open and facing down to save his page; various items of makeup and a bottle of her mother’s favorite perfume, a birthday present from Celia, cluttered the dresser.  Celia tiptoed over, as she often did, and carefully bent her head to take in the fragrance.  
    Her long blond hair, which before her bath had been wound into a loose bun on the top of her head and fastened in place with a single pin, tumbled loose and spilled onto the dresser.  
    Celia quickly straightened, a sharp pain biting her scalp as something scraped against the wooden dresser and crashed to the ground.  
     _No!  Oh, no, no, no!_  
    Her hair had caught the latch of her mother’s jewelry box, yanking it off the dresser as Celia stood.  Upside down and open, the contents of the box were scattered across the floor.  Celia’s eyes welled with tears, furious with herself as she stood and surveyed the scene.  She felt like she had desecrated her shrine to her parents.  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered as she knelt.  
    Celia cried silently and methodically ran her hands over every inch of the carpet, looked under every piece of furniture, and carefully gathered every earring, every pendant, every ring that had fallen out of the box.  She righted the wooden jewelry box, checking to make sure the inlaid design hadn’t been damaged and that the hinges were intact.  She knew that the box was very old and a treasured family heirloom.    
    “No!  Oh, no, no, no!” she cried.  The velvet lining separated from the interior as the floor of the box swung open when she lifted it, no doubt knocked loose from its joints when it hit the ground.  _I ruined it!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!_   Panic and sadness constricted her throat like two hands squeezing the breath out of her.  Celia cautiously looked at the damage.  _Maybe someone at the auction house knows how to fix it_ , she thought hopefully.  They repaired delicate antiques there all the time.  _The materials didn’t break, just the construction came apart.  It will be okay.  This is fixable._   The strangled feeling subsided and Celia drew a deep breath.  
     _Wait a minute, what’s this?_   There were hinges on the underside of the jewelry box floor.  And another bottom beneath that.  _A false bottom?_ Maybe she hadn’t broken it after all.  Celia wondered what her mother would have possibly kept hidden in this secret compartment.  Timidly, she bent her face close to it but all she smelled was the rich, musty scent of antique wood and a hint of her mother’s perfume.    
    Celia simultaneously missed her mother desperately, wishing she could just _ask her_ about it, and clung excitedly to this new potential, that there might have been something about her parents she didn’t know.  That they were not static, past-tense people just because they were gone, but people with many facets she could still as yet discover.  
    Celia carefully replaced the false bottom and velvet lining, and returned the jewelry to its place inside the box.  _I remember these_ , she thought as she picked up a pair of drop-pearl earrings her mother had worn on their last fancy mother-daughter date night.  _Dad gave her this for Mother’s Day_ , as she delicately lowered a heart-shaped pendant set with Celia’s birthstone, topaz.  _She hated this thing_ , a gaudy pavé Cartier brooch shaped like a parrot, a Christmas gift from a great-aunt.  
     _What is this?_   A heavy round locket lay on the ground in the spot where the box had fallen.  It appeared to be very old, dented and worn, its surface dappled with patina.  Celia searched her knowledge of antiques, trying to place the material.  _Bronze?_   It was mottled and greenish in places, deep brown and gold in others.  And heavy.  _Really_ heavy.  _What a strange material for jewelry, though._   It was attached to a short chain that dangled as Celia examined the locket.  It was about the size of a golf ball, flat on one side and rounded on the other, with a little clasp at the top.    
    Celia gently pried it open.  Empty.  But she noticed an odd engraving inside.  It looked like Norse runes.  Well, her ancestry was from that part of the world.  Maybe this was an heirloom, like the jewelry box?  _Why have I never seen this before?_ Celia wondered.  It must have been kept in the secret compartment of the jewelry box.  It seemed very old.  Was it valuable?  Sentimental?  Maybe her mother had been saving it to show her at some special moment in the future.  _Like when?  It’s not like you would want to wear this thing with your wedding dress or something..._  
    Celia stood and looked in the mirror as she fastened the chain around her neck.  The locket fell right over her heart.  She thought she could feel her heartbeat echoing in the chamber of the locket.  It felt strangely warm against her skin.  Celia became aware of the fact that the noise of the traffic in the street below had faded, as if someone had pressed pause.  The room was still and silent, not from her solitude but from something else.  Because she was not alone.  A pale face framed with long dark hair materialized over her shoulder and peered at her reflection in the mirror.  His eyes danced with mischief as a wide, wicked grin spread across his face.  
    Celia blinked, and he was gone.  She whirled around, but the room was, as ever, empty.  The locket burned her chest, and she wrested it off, breathing heavily.  _What is happening?_   She was just tired.  She was overwhelmed.  This was all too much and it had been a long day and she needed to lie down and get some rest.  She hurried out of her parents’ bedroom and deliberately, resolutely, shut the door.    
_Oh, this thing..._   She’d walked out with the locket still in her hand.  Too unnerved to go back into the room, back into the false bottom of the jewelry box, back into a secret her mother never told her and now never would, Celia slipped the locket into her dressing gown pocket.  
    In her own room, she fished a prescription bottle out of her nightstand drawer.  She felt exhausted but still uncomfortably restless.  Her mind was racing but she needed to check out for a while.  Tapping two Xanax into her palm, she swallowed them dry and curled up on her duvet.  The world melted away as she dissolved into dreamless sleep.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate your feedback so please leave comments if you have thoughts, and thanks for reading!  
> (For more of my work you can check out some of my Bucky fics under my Floating World Pictures pseud.)


	3. The Imaginary Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, in which we have a meet-cute involving someone getting maced in the face.

* * *

And as to being in a fright  
Allow me to remark  
That Ghosts have just as good a right  
In every way, to fear the light,  
As Men to fear the dark.  
-Lewis Carroll, “Phantasmagoria,” 1869

    The stone, whatever it was, would have to wait.  Loki had bigger concerns at the moment.  For example, was he losing his mind, or was he actually interdimensionally astral-projecting involuntarily?  The girl on the street in New York City he’d written off as a vivid dream, he had after all been asleep, but this time?  He’d been wide awake.  Wide awake and intently reading about the magical properties of the Norn Stones.  He had paused to consider the grammatical likelihood that _the stone_ singular, could be referring to the Norn Stones, plural, or maybe just one of them.  Or maybe it meant something else altogether.    
    Or maybe he was just losing his mind, Loki’d had his bell rung pretty hard by that green, hulking rage-monster at Stark’s.  Asgardians were relatively unbreakable but what if that humiliating incident had caused some permanent damage?  
    It didn’t make any sense.  Midgard was supposed to be closed to interdimensional travel, and in any case, Loki’s magic was bound here.  Wasn’t it?  Because, with no preamble or warning, he’d went from reading to looking right at her, at that same Celia-girl.    
    And she was wearing a very familiar locket.    
    Loki’s face had lit up as recognition dawned on him.  
    And then, just as suddenly, he was back in his body, in his library.  This was definitely not just some hyperrealistic daydream, he hadn’t dozed off.  The residual feeling of astral-projection slid over his skin like a familiar silk shirt.  Were his powers _not_ bound?  Was there an unmarked portal on this island fortress?  How did this happen without any effort?  And to Midgard, of all places.  Why did he continue to encounter the same girl?  Boredom had been replaced with intense bewilderment.  First something about a stone and now this girl was wearing the very locket he had just the day before seen drawn in a book illustration.  
     _Oh_.  Loki sprang from his desk as his mind placed the image of the locket.  He ran his hands over the bookshelves, hunting for that history of Vanir magic.  _Damn this disorganization!_   Chaos was only satisfying when it wasn’t getting in his way.  After several frenzied minutes, he pulled the book from a shelf and thumbed through the pages with rough anticipation.  There it was.  The same heavy chain, the same hemispherical locket with the clasp at the top.  Mjøtuor.*  
   _Forged of metals from the Cave of Time_ , Loki read,  
_by the dwarves Brokkr and Eitri, famed metalsmiths of the Nine Realms, Mjøtuor was given to the infant princess of Vanaheim, that it might hone and amplify her capabilities as a seer, a talent for which the Vanir are famed.  When fitted with the Time Gem, Mjøtuor will grant to the Vanir princess unlimited control over past, present, and future, she alone being worthy to wield this power.  Although Mjøtuor was never to be united with the Time Gem, this nonetheless powerful artifact was guarded as the princess herself, both having been spirited to another realm for protection until such time as peace between Vanaheim and Asgard would be accorded.  Both Mjøtuor and the princess have since been lost, she presumed dead and the whereabouts of the locket, believed extant as dwarven metalwork is not susceptible to destruction, unknown.  In lesser hands than hers, Mjøtuor will reveal to its wearer the future set to befall him if inside the locket is placed an object that is precious to him._  
    Loki’s head was spinning.  He was dizzy with the possibility swirling in the passage he had just read.  Brokkr and Eitri certainly were famed metalsmiths; they’d forged no less than Thor’s Mjølnir.  And the Time Gem?  It had to be the stone.  It all made sense.  Fitted together with Mjøtuor, they would strengthen her magic...  _How interesting.  It sounds like the scepter the Other gave me_ , Loki thought.  He had his suspicions that the blue stone in the scepter, which had enhanced his magic, might have been an Infinity Stone.  The Mind Gem would have afforded him a broad spectrum of enhanced psionic abilities, such as those he had performed on Midgard.    
    Not that he could be sure it _had been_ one of the gems.  Most of them were supposed to be safely stowed in Odin’s vault.    
    But somehow this Celia-girl was in possession of Mjøtuor.  And it was supposed to be lost.  And Loki wasn’t supposed to be able to use his magic or travel to Midgard.  So things weren’t always where they were supposed to be.    
    Only, perhaps they were exactly where they ought to be, for Loki to take possession of his birthright.  The burden of glorious purpose pressed his brow once more like the crown of kingship.  To be sure, there remained a few complications.  Namely, Loki needed to get control over his magic.  Then he needed to pay Celia another visit...  
  


* * *

  
    Loki pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, struggling to force down his mounting frustration, which was beginning to take the form of a dull ache behind his eyes.  He’d spent the better part of the day attempting to astral-project from the library to his bedchamber, to no avail.  He tried to will himself to sleep, focusing hard on the details of his room, hoping it would trigger whatever had occurred that night he’d visited New York.  But then he realized, he’d been thinking about the Vanir princess as he’d drifted off that night, not New York.  He’d just ended up there.  With Celia.  Who told him about the stone.    
    It couldn’t be a coincidence.        
    Loki concentrated on Mjøtuor, funneling his energy into his desire to possess the locket.  This was not working.  He must not have been projecting on his own.  The fortress must be built on a portal.  Asgard was peppered with interdimensional portals and many of them were uncharted, so it was a distinct possibility that time and space were more fluid here on this remote island than in Asgard’s city-proper.  The Rainbow Bridge wasn’t the only way to travel between the Nine Realms, it had simply been the most reliable.  Clearly this island hosted an unstable portal, firing at random intervals.      
    But then, why had only Loki been transported?  Why had none of the others here with him ever experienced it?  
    Loki was too distracted and too frustrated to feign patience when Sindri brought his evening meal.  The desk was strewn with books and Loki leaned heavily on the arm of his chair with his head in his hand, eyes pressed shut and brow furrowed.    
    “Where would you like your tray, sir?” Sindri asked timidly.  He could tell that Loki was in a dark mood.  
    Sure enough, in answer to Sindri’s question, Loki unceremoniously knocked half the books onto the floor with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.  Sindri backed up several steps as they crashed.  
    “I...I’m sorry...sir, I can, um...come back later, or...” Sindri stammered, not sure if he should put down the tray and help pick up the books or just back out of the room and leave Loki to his brooding.  The petulant demi-god still hadn’t even looked in Sindri’s direction.  
    At that moment, Loki suddenly felt his chest emptying, like someone had pulled a plug in his viscera.  His warmth, his heartbeat, his breath all felt like they were draining out of him, spiraling away.  He looked sharply at Sindri now, eyes wide with panic.  Because Loki knew this feeling.  He was about to magically transport.  Not astral-project out of his body, but actually, physically transport.  And Sindri was watching him.  The young servant was sure to report this, sure to sound the alarm that Loki had somehow used magic and escaped.  It would all be over before it had even begun.  
    Loki’s last view of the library was of Sindri, mouth agape and white-knuckling the tray as Loki disappeared before his eyes.

* * *

  
    In an instant, Loki’s body felt full of itself again.  He looked around at the short, narrow corridor where he now stood, at once understanding that he had returned to Midgard.  Well, there was no use right now in worrying about Sindri and who he might tell.  Loki wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten himself here, so he had no idea if anyone could follow him or how he was going to get himself back again.    
    On either side of the hallway was a closed door.  Following his instincts, Loki reached for the left one and cautiously opened it, revealing an unoccupied bedroom.  Despite a distinctly un-lived-in air, there was an open book on one of the bedside tables and the dresser was strewn with makeup, a perfume bottle, and a wooden-inlaid jewelry box.  _I know this place_.  
    Crossing the dark room to the dresser in two determined strides, Loki reached for the jewelry box.  He’d seen it in the brief moment he’d astral-projected here and witnessed Celia try on Mjøtuor in the mirror.  He could sense the locket’s powerful essence on the box, like humidity in the air before a rainstorm.  It felt thick and charged.  Loki dumped the contents of the box onto the dresser and pawed through them.  _Chintzy human baubles..._   Noticing that the lining didn’t adhere to the interior of the box, Loki ripped it out and tossed it aside before clawing at the bottom panel to work it open.  
    Empty.  _Damn!_   It couldn’t have gone far.  It was here, somewhere.  He could feel it.  
    The lights flicked on.  
    “ _What in the hell do you think you’re doing?_ ” cried an angry, terrified voice.  
    Loki froze and looked up into the mirror to see Celia behind him.  
    “I have my phone!  I’m calling the police!  You get out of here, do you hear me?  _You can’t be in here, you can’t take anything from this room!_ ”  Her voice broke and she spun on her heel, disappearing into the hallway.  
   _She has Mjøtuor_.  
    Loki followed Celia out of the room, but she had already crossed the hall and was slamming shut her bedroom door.  A lock clicked.    
   _Humans and their foolish illusions of safety._    
    Loki easily pushed the door in.  Celia jumped back and defensively held out a small can of...something, he wasn’t sure what it was.  Although tears were running down her cheeks, she said in a brave, angry voice, “Did you take anything from my parents’ room?”  
    Loki spread his arms wide and slowly took a step towards her, “The object I seek was not there.”  
    “If you get any closer to me I will mace that smirk off your face.”  
    “You will... _what?_ ” Loki paused, unsure of what this threat contained.  Was she going to magically make a mace pop out of that tiny container?  Loki didn't believe humans could perform such feats.  
    “If you didn’t take anything, then get out.  Just go.  I already called the police.  They’re on their way.”  
    Loki flashed his most charming smile and took a step toward Celia.  
    True to her word, and with admirable aim, she deployed her mace, stopping Loki in his tracks.  He fell back and brought his arms up to shield his face, letting out a shout of protest.  
    The mace didn’t affect Loki as seriously as it would a mortal man, but it took him by surprise and the substance smelled acrid, so he backed off, wiping his face with his hand.  A withering glare had replaced his grin.  
    “I remember you,” Celia said slowly, “I saw you earlier on the street.  Were you following me?  Why are you dressed like that?  What do you...”  Celia trailed off, the haze of her earlier double Xanax dose burning off with the fright of this intruder as she realized where, exactly, she had seen Loki earlier.  “Wait a minute.  You weren’t real.  When I saw you, you weren’t real.”    
    Her bravado faded and she shrank back, dropping the arm holding the can of mace.  She looked up at Loki, fearful now as much of her own self-doubt as of him.  “What is happening?  What are you?” she asked in a small voice.  
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Loki replied, his tone cold but not entirely unkind. “So why don’t we skip the explanations and you give me something to wash my face.”  
    “Are you real?” Celia demanded.  
    “If you believed I were not real, would you trust me to tell you whether I am real or not?”  
    “I don’t know,” she grumbled, wiping the tears from her face.  “No, you know what?  Yes I do know,” Celia willed herself to get a grip.  “Of course you aren’t real.  _Of course you aren’t_.  I am having a psychotic break.  Yes.  And you are a delusion that I’m manifesting as one of those superhero guys who saved the city from that insane alien attack a few months ago, which was very traumatic so my brain must have, like, saved the images of it for when I have a mental breakdown which obviously is right now.  Yes, that makes sense.”  She nodded, pleased with her reasoning.  
    Loki gave a dark chuckle, “I wasn’t one of the heroes, I assure you.”  
    “Okay, then who are you?”  
    “I am Loki, of Asgard, and...”  
    A rough knock sounded at the front door.  “Are you in there?  This is the police!”  
    Celia took a deep, shaky breath.  “Great.  Now I have to explain to the police that I called 911 because I’m having an altercation with my imaginary friend, Loki of Asgard.”  
    Loki crossed his arms.  He really did not appreciate the way she said his name like it was the punchline of a joke.  His attempt at reproach was lost on Celia.  He stood blocking her passage through the doorway, and preferring to keep her distance, she casually spritzed him in the face with her mace for good measure as she stalked past and out into the hall.  
    “Aaaarrrgh!” Loki yelped.  
    “Yeah...sorry,” Celia replied, unrepentant.  She pocketed the mace and headed to the front door, where the police were still pounding and asking if she was there.  
    “Yes, I’m here!” she called, unlatching the chains to open the door only wide enough for her to peek her head out.  
    “Yes, ma’am, we got a call that there was an intruder in your apartment...are you okay?”  The two uniformed officers looked skeptical.  She supposed she couldn’t blame them.  Who hangs around their apartment if there’s an intruder in it, unless they were being held hostage or something?  _But if I were a hostage, it’s not like I’d be answering the front door_ , she thought.  
    Celia put on a sheepish smile, “Oh...yeah.  I’m fine.  So stupid, I’m really sorry.  I live alone and I heard a noise and I guess I was just being paranoid.”  
    “You live here alone?” one officer asked, raising her eyebrows.  What girl Celia’s age lived alone in an apartment like this in New York City?  _Oh my god,_ she realized, _do they think that I’m the intruder?  I am wearing a robe!_  
    “Yes,” she said, a little testy. “My parents are dead.  I live here alone.”  
    Celia paused for effect.  The cops looked unconvinced.    
    “You can talk to the doorman,” she suggested, “he knows me.  Celia Andersen.”  
    “Do you have any ID, Miss Andersen?”  
    She dug her wallet out of her bag, which was sitting on the table in the entrance hall, just next to the door.  One officer inspected her ID while the other tried to look over Celia’s head into the apartment.  “We heard some yelling.  Are you sure there is no one else here?”  
    “Oh, I had the TV on,” Celia said weakly, taking back her ID.  
    “Would you like us to give the place a once-over, just to be sure?” the officer pressed.  Celia couldn’t tell if the cops thought she was hiding something or if they were trying to put her at ease.  She realized that her tearstained face and bloodshot eyes probably contradicted her reassurances that everything was fine.    
    “No, thank you.  It was totally a pigeon on the fire escape.  I’m really sorry for all the trouble,” she put on her most convincing smile and began to shut the door, hoping they would take the hint.  The cop who had looked at her ID seemed prepared to leave, but the one who had tried to look inside the apartment stuck her foot in the doorjamb, blocking Celia from closing it completely.  
    “We’ll be in the area, if you change her mind,” she said firmly, holding out her card.  Celia nodded thanks as she shut the door and heaved a dejected sigh.  It was just dawn and she was already having a really rough day, what with beginning her descent into madness and all.  Truthfully, she felt profoundly heartbroken over her mother’s jewelry box.  It felt like a violation to have moved it at all.  Her parents had left things a certain way in that room and Celia felt as though she were somehow erasing her mother from the place by altering even one item.  She headed back to her own room to send her boss at the auction house an email -- she was definitely calling in sick today -- when she heard running water in the bathroom at the end of the hall.  
    She flung open the door and grimaced.  “Are you still here?”  
    Loki had water dripping down his front and splashed all over the bathroom floor.  “How does one remove this substance?”  
    Celia turned and walked away, calling over her shoulder, “With milk.  Water just reactivates it.”

* * *

  
    Loki leaned against the counter in Celia’s kitchen, daubing his face and hair with a dry towel.  He had stripped off his leather bracers, which had taken the brunt of the mace, rinsed his face and hands over the sink with milk, and was now relatively clean and mace-free.  
    “So you sent the authorities away,” he said, taunting.  
    “Yeah I don’t think they enjoy the paperwork they have to fill out for arresting imaginary friends,” Celia snapped.  
    “If I am imaginary, why are you talking to me now?”  
    “Good question.”    
    “What will constitute my official duties as your imaginary friend?” Loki teased.  
    “Primarily it involves shutting the hell up,” Celia snapped.  “No, you are not my friend, imaginary or otherwise.  You are my delusional manifestation and I am clearly exhausted and stressed and upset about my mother’s jewelry box getting messed up and I’m going back to bed.”  
    Loki said nothing as she flounced out of the kitchen.  He stood, unmoving, wondering how he was going to persuade this girl to give him Mjøtuor and whether it would do any good for him to simply steal it while she slept.  He wasn’t yet sure if she was the Vanir scion and whether she would need to transfer the locket’s loyalty to him in order for him to possess its full potency.  
    A terrified scream pierced through his musings.  _Celia?_  
    Loki rushed through the apartment to find her cowering in the hall.  A Chitauri foot-soldier lumbered out of the open door of her parents’ bedroom, the jewelry box in its hand.  It roared at Celia as it crushed the box in its fist and flung the debris at her.  _The Chitauri know?  They know about Mjøtuor?_ Loki thought, as he grabbed Celia by the arm and pulled her away.  _Or are they here for me?_  
    Celia yanked her arm out of his grip and turned on him.  _“What the hell?”_  
    Before Loki could answer, the Chitauri grabbed Celia around the waist and flung her over its shoulder.  Screaming, Celia pounded her fists on its back.  Loki advanced and kicked the Chitauri hard in the side, distracting it long enough for him to snatch its weapon.  “Hold still!” he shouted to Celia, whose flailing obscured any clear shot he had of the Chitauri.  His command was duly ignored by the frightened girl, and Loki had no choice but to shoot the Chitauri’s legs out from under it.  Not a fatal blow, but enough of a diversion for Loki to help Celia wrest free.  The Chitauri threw its arms back to break its fall and she sprang away, clutching the arm Loki offered to her.  Celia hid her face against Loki’s shoulder as he shot a deathblow at the Chitauri’s chest.  
    But Loki felt something in his own chest.  The swirling, draining feeling that signaled the initiation of interdimensional transport.  Was he now being pulled back to Asgard?  Summoned by the Other?  He looked at Celia, who stood frozen in shock, staring at the dead Chitauri.  _What choice do I have?_   He threw the Chitauri rifle aside and wrapped his arms around Celia tightly, just as the room dropped out of sight.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This name comes from the Old Norse word relating to a “dispenser of fate.”
> 
> I appreciate your feedback so please leave comments if you have thoughts, and thanks for reading!  
> (For more of my work you can check out some of my Bucky fics under my Floating World Pictures pseud.)


	4. The Half-Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4, in which Loki pretends to be nice and sorta kinda succeeds.

* * *

Ourself behind ourself, concealed --

Should startle most --

Assassin hid in our Apartment

Be Horror’s least.

-Emily Dickinson, “One need not be a Chamber -- to be Haunted,” (Poem 690), 1862

 

    Back in Asgard, Loki held Celia securely against him as he scanned his library.  He could feel her chest rising and falling rapidly with shallow breath.  _She better not pass out._   Loki was in no mood to deal with her unconscious body.    
    Taking Celia by the shoulders, he turned her slowly to face him.  She looked dazed and began to open her mouth, but Loki pressed his palm firmly to her lips, willing her not to scream.  The library appeared to be empty and he wanted to keep it that way until he could figure out what to do.  He felt fairly certain that kidnapping a young woman from Midgard would not endear him to anyone here.  
    Loki brought a finger to his own lips now, indicating that they should remain silent.  He nodded to Celia, as if to ask, _We’re being quiet, do you understand?_   She returned his nod, gripping her chest with her hands as if to reassure herself that it was intact.  Loki sighed and went to get her a chair.  It was then he noticed, on the ground a pair of legs stuck out from behind the desk.  _Curious...had there been some sort of altercation here?_  
    He made his way over cautiously and found Sindri on the floor, leaning against the desk, fast asleep with an open book in his lap.  _Is it possible that Sindri told no one?_   Loki nudged the youth with his boot.  
    “You’re back!” Sindri exclaimed.  
     _“Shhhhhh!”_  
    “You’re back,” Sindri repeated, in a whisper.  
    “Yes,” said Loki, looking at Sindri expectantly.  
    “I haven’t told anyone,” Sindri proudly assured him.  “I said that you asked me to stay on and read to you while you dined, and that we were not to be disturbed.  I made sure no one came in.  I even ate your dinner and sent out the tray so it wouldn’t seem like a lie.  Oh...I’m sorry, sir, I ate your dinner...”  
    “It’s fine, Sindri.” Loki certainly wasn’t going to admonish the boy for covering his disappearance.  “Well done.  I won’t forget your loyalty.”  He glanced down at the book Sindri had been reading before he had dozed off.  
    Sindri blushed, “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that...I always wanted to read some of these books.  I want to learn magic.  I think I can do it.  I want to do magic, like you.”  
    Loki seized this opportunity.  “Sindri, if you continue to help me, to demonstrate your loyalty to me, I’ll teach you everything you want to know and more.”  
    Sindri’s face lit up, “Really?”  
    “Yes, of course,” Loki replied smoothly.  “But first you must help me, or they’ll take me away from here and then I won’t be able to teach you anything.”  
    “Right.  Yes, sir, I’ll do whatever I can.  Only...what happened?  What do you need me to do?”  
    At this juncture, Celia approached the pair.  She had decided that she definitely, probably was not going to throw up and pulled herself together enough to form some coherent questions in her mind, which she was now ready to demand that Loki answer.    
    Sindri stared at her, and then looked to Loki.  Then back at Celia, and back to Loki again.  He opened and shut his mouth, then opened it again.  The boy seemed so confused, and Loki wasn’t quite sure how to explain things, so he said simply, “I think there might be an unstable portal somewhere on the island.”  
    “Um...excuse me,” Celia whispered, “but what just happened?  Where are we?”’  
    “The Sea of Space, just off the city of Asgard,” Sindri offered.  He seemed relieved to have at least this secure piece of information to affirm.  
    But Loki shot him a stern look.    
    “No, wait, don’t shut him up,” protested Celia.  She turned back to Sindri.  “What do you mean, ‘Sea of Space?‘  Asgard?”  She looked at Loki, “Didn’t you say you’re ‘Loki of Asgard?’”  Celia looked up into the corners of the room, “Is this some kind of really elaborate prank?”  
    “He is Loki of Asgard,” Sindri said defensively.    
    “What does that _mean?_ ” Celia pressed.  
    “Sindri?” Loki interrupted, “Why don’t you go out and have them prepare my room for me to retire for the evening.”  
    “Oh...yes, of course, sir,” Sindri hauled himself up and made his way to the door.  “Yes, good idea.  I’ll tell them you’re very tired and not to be disturbed.”  
    “Yes, thank you.”  
    Celia glared at Loki.  “Who died and made you king?  Sindri, come back.”  
    Sindri paused and looked at Loki, who sighed and gave a subtle shake of his head, so the youth simply bowed to Celia and slipped out the door.  Celia barely had time to compose her features into another angry glare when Loki said, “I will give you all the answers you require, but right now I need you to tell me; where is the locket?”  
    Reflexively, Celia’s hands flew into the pockets of her dressing gown.  “No way.  Answers first.”  
    Satisfied that she still had Mjøtuor with her, Loki crossed his arms and threw back his chin.  “Very well,” he acquiesced.  “What would you like to know?”  
    Celia hadn’t expected to win so easily.  Faltering, she asked, “Seriously, where are we?”  
    “Asgard.  Or, thereabout.”  
    “I don’t know what that means.”  Celia mirrored Loki’s defiant stance, feet wide apart and arms crossed over the chest.  
    Loki grinned.  “You mentioned the attack on New York...”  
    “Yeah...?”  
    “Whom did they claim was responsible?”  
    Celia dropped her gaze.  There were all sorts of wild theories swirling around.  She hadn’t been in the city at the time, she’d been away for the summer, but she had seen some pretty incredible footage on the internet, caught by people who were there.  Enormous monsters pouring out of a hole in the sky and half-robot looking lizard creatures with weapons like nothing anyone had ever seen before.  Captain America and Iron Man and someone claiming to be Thor, actual god of thunder, flying around with a red cape and calling lightening down from the sky.  It was so incredible, Celia still wasn’t sure whether to believe it.  Most people said it had been some kind of attempted alien invasion thwarted by a top secret team of super-soldiers, and that did seem possible given the eyewitness accounts, although it wasn’t officially confirmed by the government.  But still...it wasn’t officially denied either and the thing that had attacked her in the apartment looked just like the ones from some of the leaked camera-phone shots.    
    Finally, Celia declared rather weakly, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”  
    “Don’t you?” Loki put on his most infuriating smile.  
    This question was too big and too abstract for Celia to care about right now.  She had more immediate concerns.  “Why were you going through my mother’s jewelry box?” she demanded.  
    Loki didn’t answer, but Celia had a pretty good guess.  Her hand returned to her pocket and closed tightly around Mjøtuor.  “That thing in the apartment, what was it?”  
    “A Chitauri soldier.  They’re not entirely sentient.  Drones, really.  They attacked your city before.”  
    “Aliens?” Celia clarified.  
    “I suppose you could call them that,” Loki allowed.  
    “Are you an alien?”  
    “If that’s how you need to understand it.”  
    “Okay.  This drone went after my mom’s jewelry box, and so did you,” Celia pointed out.  
    Loki paused, unsure how to handle this line of questioning without revealing too much.  “I know,” he said, finally.    
    “Well,” Celia insisted, “why?  Why do you want this locket?”  She pulled it out of her pocket now and looked at it in her hand.  It was just a locket.  It wasn’t even that nice.  It was old and kind of worn and didn’t appear to be made of any precious material, as far as she could tell.  
    “What do you know about that locket?” Loki hedged.  
    “I didn’t even know it existed before last night.”  
    The handle on the door turned slowly, and Loki shoved Celia behind the desk.  But it was only Sindri, who slid into the room and shut the door behind him.  “They’re finished in your room, sir.  But you may want to dismiss them for the night before you go there.  Servants’ quarters are on the top floor, so it should clear out the corridors.”  
    Loki nodded, appreciative of Sindri’s cleverness and initiative.  Perhaps his loyalty would continue to prove itself useful.  He genuinely meant it when he answered, “Thank you, Sindri.”  
    Then Loki glanced at Celia, who was none too pleased at having been shoved to the ground.  “Can you stay here and keep out of sight for a moment?”    
    “I can watch her,” proffered Sindri.  
    Loki really didn’t want Celia questioning Sindri, who would likely be forthcoming with all sorts of information it wouldn’t do for her to know just yet, such as why Loki was imprisoned on this island fortress to begin with.  Loki needed Celia to trust him.  If she was, as he believed, the Vanir scion, Mjøtuor would be useless to him without her blessing.  But on the other hand, it wasn’t as if Sindri really knew anything about Loki’s schemes.  Maybe the boy’s corroboration could reassure her that Loki was not, in fact, a figment of her overtaxed imagination.  He helped Celia up from the floor, “Will that suit you?”  
    Grasping at her dignity, she straightened her robe and sharply tightened the sash.  “Does it make any difference if I say no?”

* * *

  
    When Loki returned to the library, Sindri and Celia were bent over the desk.  Sindri gestured over it animatedly as he guided her through an atlas depicting the Nine Realms.  Loki could see her skepticism beginning to wane; she was so absorbed in Sindri’s lesson she didn’t even look up as Loki approached.  But Sindri did, and he smiled broadly.  “I’m just showing her where we are,” he explained.    
    “Indeed,” Loki replied, his eyes on Celia.  She looked up at him now.  
    “If this isn’t real, you’ve certainly gone to a lot of trouble to make it seem that way,” she conceded.  
    Loki held out his hands as if to say, _no tricks_.    
    “Sindri says that you aren’t sure how you ended up at my apartment,” Celia continued.  
    Loki nodded.  He adopted his most chivalrous guise.  “I’m only glad I was there in time to prevent your abduction by the Chitauri.  I can’t say they’re known to be kind.”  
    “Yeah... Only now I’ve been abducted by you.”  
    “I rescued you!”  
    “Which I appreciate,” she smiled sweetly.  “Now how are you going to get me home?”  
    Loki paced in front of the desk, pensive for a moment.  “I’m not entirely sure just yet,” he admitted.  “I don’t quite know exactly how I transported.”  
    “Well, it happened more than once,” Celia reminded him.  “I saw you more than once.”  
    Loki nodded.  “My best guess is that it has something to do with your locket,” he said, revealing a half-truth he hoped would appease her.  “Each time it happened, I was reading about the locket in a book on magic artifacts.  I think that your locket must be the one known as Mjøtuor.  It is a very powerful object.  Perhaps it was trying to warn someone of the Chitauri’s intentions and drew me to it.”  
    Celia considered this.  “So that’s why the...what did you call the drone-thing, again?”  
    “The Chitauri?”  
    She nodded.  “That’s why it was after the locket, too?  Because the locket is magical?”  She held up Mjøtuor and inspected it again.  “I think it has runes written inside it,” she recalled, fumbling to open the clasp.  Loki reached out to assist her.  
    Celia sprung back and clutched Mjøtuor close to her chest.  “No, no way.  You don’t touch this.  It belonged to my mother.”  
    “Celia,” Loki said calmly, as if speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum.  “You’ve already been attacked once because Mjøtuor is in your possession.”  
    “Twice,” she shot back.  
    Loki’s eyes widened, as if appalled by such an accusation.  “I did not attack you!  As I recall, it was you who attacked me.”  
    Celia looked away, sheepish.  “Well, what was I supposed to do?”  
    “Oh, you were quite right to be on your guard,” he assured her, with all the appearance of concern.  “It’s just...well...what if Mjøtuor was calling me to it?  To protect you from the Chitauri?  To protect the locket itself?  You know, the Allfather has acted as steward to any number of powerful magical objects.  He keeps them highly guarded in the palace.  The Chitauri and many others have tried in the past to obtain some of them before they were brought here for safekeeping.”    
    Loki omitted the fact that he, himself, was chief among the cohort of miscreants who had abused objects from Odin’s vault.  Likewise, he did not see fit to inform Celia just yet that the Time Gem, the stone meant to be united with Mjøtuor to turn it into the powerful magical object it had the potential to become, was also kept in that room.    
    Hoping for an ally, Celia looked at Sindri, who had ostensibly gone back to reading his book during this exchange.  Feeling Celia’s eyes on him, Sindri smiled at her shyly.  “It’s true,” he said.  “If that’s really powerful, it would be safest for everyone if you kept it in the palace vault.”  
    She returned the locket to her pocket.  “By the way,” she said, turning back to Loki, “my name is Celia.”  
    “I know,” he replied, hovering his hand at the small of her back to lead her out of the room.

* * *

  
    With Sindri as lookout, they crept down the corridors and up a flight of stairs to Loki’s spacious suite of rooms.  Celia held up their progress considerably, stopping every few steps to gawk at the grand Asgardian architecture.  Loki had to restrain himself from slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her the rest of the way; he felt like he’d made some progress with Celia and didn’t want to remind her of her encounter with the Chitauri soldier by manhandling her in the same way.    
    When they reached Loki’s room, Sindri promised to rise early and head off any overzealous maids who might make their way to that part of the castle in the morning, before they’d have time to conceal Celia.  Loki thanked his faithful servant before turning the key in the door.  
    “Oh...bed...sleep,” Celia moaned as she bounded across the room and flung herself into the pile of silken pillows on the bed.  The events of the past hour had exhausted her.  Loki pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat to remove his boots and unlace his outerwear.  Celia had already burrowed under the covers, too tired to wait for an invitation.  
    “Loki?” she asked in a small, sleepy voice.  
    “Yes?”  
    “Your name’s really Loki?”  
    Hadn’t they been over this?  “Yes.”  
    “Isn’t there a Norse god called Loki?”  
    “Yes.”  So that’s where she was going with this.  “I am he.”  
    “So you’re not an alien?”  
    “I am not of your world,” Loki said after thinking a moment about how to give the simplest answer to a complicated question.  
    But Celia was still full of complicated questions.  “Isn’t Thor your brother?”  
    “Yes,” Loki said through a clenched jaw.  
    “Was he really in New York when the Chitauri things attacked us?  With the lightening and everything?”  
    “Never mind.  Go to sleep.”  
    Celia closed her eyes and was quiet for several moments.  Her breathing slowed, her fidgeting stilled, and Loki assumed she was asleep.  He leaned forward to study her, curious about this girl raised Midgardian who might be a princess from another realm.  She’d appeared impish and animated when she was awake, but her features softened in her sleepy quietude.  _She certainly is beautiful enough to be a Vanir princess._   Loki momentarily lost himself staring at Celia’s glorious long hair, thick and blond.  It cascaded over the pillows and pooled around her face like a golden sunburst.  He leaned back in the chair without taking his eyes off her.  
    “Loki?” Celia said, opening her eyes and startling Loki out of the chair.  He stood abruptly, not wanting to be caught staring so hard at her.  
    “Yes?  Did you need something?”  
    “You aren’t going to steal...what did you call it?  Meow-meow?”  
    “Myuh-tuuwr,” he corrected, saying it slowly for her.  
    “Mjøtuor,” she repeated.  “You won’t steal it while I’m asleep, will you?”  
    “I have protected you both, have I not?  As long as you’re in my bed you have nothing to fear,” he lied, smooth as the silk of his sheets.  _It’s mostly true_ , he assured himself.  He wasn’t going to steal Mjøtuor from her tonight, anyway.  
    Celia propped herself up on her elbow.  “Are you going to sleep in that chair?  You should at least take some pillows.”  
    Loki sat back down, awkwardly perching on the edge of the seat.  “Oh.  Yes.  Thank you.”  He let her pile a few pillows onto his lap.    
    “Do you need a blanket, too?”  
    “No.  Go to sleep now, Celia.”  
    She nestled down into the bed, turning her back to him.  Loki resigned himself to the chair, arranging his pittance of pillows and stretching his long legs out to rest on the edge of the carved bed frame.  He had just started to drift into sleep when...  
    “Loki?”  
    “Yes?”  It was like trying to get a child to sleep.  “What is it?”  
    “Thanks.  For rescuing me.”  
    “It was my pleasure.”  
  



	5. The Urgent Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, in which Celia is not buying it for a second.

* * *

I was not designed to be forced.

I will breathe after my own fashion.

Let us see who is the strongest.

-Henry David Thoreau, “Civil Disobedience,” 1849

    The next morning, Loki knew Celia was up before he opened his eyes; he could hear her across the room, humming none-too-softly to herself.  He pretended to be asleep for several moments, listening to her breathy tune.  She was clearly very absorbed in something.  He peered at her from beneath his lashes.    
    Celia wandered around the room, closely inspecting every piece of furniture, light fixture or object she found.  Loki wasn’t allowed many personal affects here, so he knew she wouldn’t find much of interest as she rifled through a small chest of drawers that contained bed linens and blankets, then moved on to a cupboard that stored a crystal decanter with a set of drinking goblets.  This went on three or four minutes, Celia humming all the while, before Loki stretched his arms and asked, “What are you doing?”  
    Celia did not pause or even look up as she said, “Good morning.  I’m going through your stuff, what does it look like I’m doing?”  
    “I see.”  Loki started to stand but his body was stiff and achy from sleeping in the chair.  He tilted his neck side to side and twisted his back a few times.  His spine crackled audibly.  
    “Sounds like you’ve had better mornings,” Celia observed, pawing through a drawer in a desk that contained a stack of paper but no pens.  
    “I’ll be fine,” Loki said wryly.        
    Celia slammed the drawer shut and turned to look at Loki now.  “So...got any clothes I could maybe borrow?” she asked.  
    “Clothes?”  
    “Yeah.  You know.  You wear them so you aren’t naked.”  She gestured at her robe.     
    Loki raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback by this request.  He hadn’t really considered such a thing, but he supposed the girl was probably right about needing some manner of proper clothes.    
    “Oh, come on!” Celia pressed impatiently.  “I am wearing a bathrobe here!”    
    “Yes, I understand,” Loki said, smiling to himself and pushing back his tangled hair.  “It’s just...I hadn’t really given it much thought.  I suppose you are welcome to anything you like,” he gestured toward his dressing room, “but I can’t imagine any of it is going to fit you.”  
    He had a point.  Relatively speaking, Celia didn’t usually feel small.  She was on the taller side of average at five foot six inches and had the athletic build of a young woman who had pursued sports all her life.  But Loki fairly towered over her.  Asking this _actual Norse god_ if she could borrow his clothes, Celia felt positively miniscule.    
    Still, she was wearing a dressing gown.  
    Celia went timidly into the room Loki had indicated.  _Okay.  Not much variety_.  Everything was more or less green, or black, or metallic.  And leather.  Lots of leather.  Tall boots and odd pieces of clothing with grommets and buckles that she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with.  Loki was lean enough that she considered borrowing a pair of leather trousers, but their proportions were so far off that she had to rule them out after wriggling into a pair only to have them gape and cling in odd places, to say nothing of the excess length in the legs.  She picked up a soft, green shirt that was folded on a shelf and held it up to her body.  It reached almost to her knees.  Maybe she could wear it kind of like a dress?  She shed her robe and slipped the shirt over her head.  The sleeves were comically long.  Worse, the V-cut neckline was so low, if she bent forward even slightly, her entire abdomen was exposed to the belly button.    
    Loki appeared in the doorframe, “Did you find anything?”  
    Celia huffed and flapped her arms, still engulfed in the too-long sleeves.  
    “Here, try this.”  He went to a wardrobe and pulled out a long leather strap with a buckle at one end, too long to be a belt.    
    “What the hell...?  This isn’t _Fifty Shades of Gray_.”  Celia protested, only half-joking as she backed away slightly.  
    Loki wrinkled his brow, “What?”  He gave Celia a contemptuous look.  “It’s the strap for a pauldron.”  He pointed out an object that looked like two elaborately worked metal shingles, one on top of the other, and then brought his hand to his shoulder, where the thing was apparently meant to be worn.  Celia shrugged and shook her head.    
    “It doesn’t matter,” Loki said.  “Come here.”  He positioned the buckle at an angle in the center of Celia’s ribcage, just below her bustline, then looped the strap over one shoulder and wrapped it around her ribs, bringing the end securely to the buckle.  Now the shirt-dress was at least fitted to her torso.  
    Celia nodded with approval, “Nicely done.”  She flapped her arms again and held them out expectantly.  Loki silently rolled up the sleeves, wondering if she remembered that Mjøtuor was still in the pocket of her discarded robe.  
    Before she could ask him what was to be done about pants and shoes, a soft knock sounded at the door.  “Sir?  It’s only me...Sindri,” a voice called.    
    Loki emerged from the dressing room to unlock the door.  
    “I have your breakfast.”  Sindri held out a tray, heavy with a hardy Asgardian breakfast of boiled eggs and smoked meats, bread, fruit, and a steaming pot of something Celia hoped was some approximation of coffee.  “I snuck a few extra things onto the tray for the lady.”  
    Celia strode past Loki and inspected the tray.  “Oh, thanks, I’m starving!”  
    Loki noticed that she had affixed Mjøtuor to the strap on her torso.  _Damn_.  He had been hoping to use her carelessness with the locket as further evidence that it belonged in more capable hands...such as, his own.  Evidently she would not be so easily kowtowed.  She noticed him studying the locket and brought her hand to her breast, pressing Mjøtuor against her as if to acknowledge that it was there, and still hers.    
    Celia followed Sindri to a small sitting area, where the boy set the tray on a table, and began selecting a few items for her breakfast.    
    Sindri turned to Loki, his expression worried. “There’s...there’s a message for you, sir,” he said reluctantly, and held out a folded envelope bearing Thor’s heavy seal.  
    Loki felt his blood begin to tingle and turn fiery in his veins.  _Thor knows.  Heimdall saw, damn him.  He knows._   Taking the note, Loki sharply ripped open the seal, nearly tearing the note in two.  There was no greeting; this message emanated urgency.  
   _Chitauri aggressions are increasing.  We need to talk._  
_For your own safety, you must come to the palace._  
_Thor_  
    This was not good news.  Loki didn’t have the leisure to be grateful that Thor didn’t seem to be aware of his travel to Midgard or his abduction of Celia; there was no way Loki could hide Celia in the palace, where he knew he would be placed under a high security detail.  _For my own safety, of course_ , Loki thought with bitter sarcasm.  He wasn’t sure how to respond.    
    “They’re making preparations now,” Sindri offered solemnly.  Loki stood, his body frozen while his mind raced for an alternative, a solution, a way to hide Celia, or to get the locket from her and send her home somehow in the next hour.  
    “Everything okay?” Celia called, tucking into her breakfast with gusto.  
    “Sindri,” Loki said, hoping to distract her from the note, to buy himself a few moments to think.  “Go stand beside Celia.”  
    Sindri and Celia both looked at him questioningly, but the boy obeyed as Celia rose, nibbling on a piece of meat she had folded into a knot of bread.  Sindri was only a few inches taller than Celia, and relatively close to her slim-hipped proportions.  Celia looked down at Sindri’s narrow frame and Loki’s intention dawned on her.  She turned to the servant with her most charming smile.  
    “Sindri, have you got some spare pants I could borrow?  And maybe some shoes?”  
    Sindri was not expecting such a request.  He side-eyed Celia’s bare legs, suddenly uncomfortable in his acute awareness that she was so scantily clad from the waist down.  “Oh!...  I think I have...  I mean, yes.  Yes, of course.  Yes, let me go see what I can find,” he stammered, nodding as he maneuvered out of the room.  
    Celia beamed at Loki.  “Pants!”  
    “I thought that would please you,” Loki replied as he made himself a plate.  
    “Asgard-food is not bad,” she remarked, inspecting a colorful bunch of fruit.  “This isn’t going to be like Persephone, right?  I’m not going to have to spend half the year here because I ate a few bites of food?”  
    “No, of course not,” Loki said, as if such a thing was absurd.  “This isn’t Olympus.  That’s an entirely other dimension.  We’re not even near that portal.”  
    “Oh, of course,” Celia retorted.  She gave a sigh, thinking that nothing surprised her at this point and she should have anticipated such an answer, when Loki abruptly put down his breakfast.  
    “Celia, I need to speak with you about Mjøtuor,” he said.  He hadn’t yet formed a plan, but better to try working it out with her now than after Thor’s guard arrived.    
    Celia continued eating her fruit as though it were more interesting than anything Loki was about to say.  Celia’s instinct told her that she could, _maybe_ , trust Loki -- after all, he’d had quite a few opportunities to take advantage of her in the past twelve hours -- but her intellect wasn’t convinced yet.  She also felt instinctively that Loki wasn’t telling her the whole story about Mjøtuor, and with this her intellect wholly concurred.  She suspected Loki wanted Mjøtuor much more than he let on, and for reasons other than benign stewardship.  As far as Celia was concerned, she held Mjøtuor and therefore, she was holding most of the cards in this situation.  Feeling confident in her upper hand, she was going to make Loki tell her the truth and she wasn’t going to give an inch until he did.  She ostentatiously ignored him as he talked, as if the small, purple berries she ate were fascinating and required her utmost concentration.  
    But a small, nagging doubt gnawed at Celia’s resolve.  Even if Mjøtuor was technically in her possession, as much as she hated to admit it there were a few essential cards missing from her hand.  She needed something from Loki, too.  Like, protection from the Chitauri, and who knew what else in this alien realm, and also maybe a ride home.  She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to just call an inter-dimensional taxi, like calling a cab to bail on a bad date.  She dropped her breakfast on the table.  
    “Are you being honest with me?” she asked, leaning forward abruptly, her voice earnest.    
    Loki’s looked wounded, as if such a question were so flatly preposterous as to be insulting.  “What do you mean?”  
    “You know what I mean!  Why all this sneaking around, isn’t this your house -- er, palace, whatever?  What do you really want with my mother’s locket?  If you just want to protect it, why didn’t we take it straight to your father last night?”  
    “Give me Mjøtuor, and I will take it to the palace right now under an armed guard,” Loki promised.  Was she really going to make it that easy?  
    “No,” Celia said.  “You don’t understand.  This belonged to my mother.  She’s gone.  These things that were hers, they are important to me.”  She clutched Mjøtuor.  “They’re all I have of her.  And then you show up and tell me it’s some magical locket and that these evil aliens want to steal it.”  She rose, angry now that Loki would keep some part of her mother from her.  “What does this thing even do?  Why did my mother keep it hidden?  Did she know what it was?  I want some answers here.  I think you know more than you’re letting on and I’m not giving you anything until you tell me the truth.”  
    Celia breathed deeply as she tried not to cry.  Loki simply nodded.  Sentimental attachment was going to be a difficult barrier, but he felt sure he could leverage it to his advantage somehow.  Sentiment was weakness.  Before he could respond, a loud boom reverberated throughout the palace.  Everything shook slightly, the cups rattling on the tray.     
    “Loki?  What’s going on?”  
    It boomed again, followed by the crashing noises of stone falling on stone.  And then, shouting.  Screams.  Sindri burst into the room, breathless.  “Chitauri.  They’re here...somehow.  They’ve broken through, they’re in the castle!”  
   _How can this be?_   Were they after Loki?  Mjøtuor?  Did they know both were here in this fortress?    
    “Sindri!”  Loki said urgently.  “Give Celia your pants, your boots!”  
    “Sir...?”  
    “Do it!”  
    The boy looked at the bundle in his arms and then remembered why he’d fetched it in the first place.  He thrust a pair of boots and some brown leather trousers at Celia, who yanked them onto her legs with trembling hands.  She could barely tie the laces.  But then she stood and asked, in as brave and steady a voice as she could muster, “How do we get out of here?”  
    Suddenly, the tall doors of the bedchamber were blown off their hinges, debris littering the room.  Celia screamed and Loki moved to shield her with his body as a squad of Chitauri soldiers swept into the room.  Sindri, who was nearest the entryway, picked up a wooden plank from the wreckage of the door and swung it as hard as he could at one of the soldiers.  The blow knocked the thing off its balance and into one of the others.  A third Chitauri brought its arm up and casually backhanded Sindri hard in the face, sending him flying into the wall.  Sindri slumped to the ground, unmoving.    
    “Sindri!” Celia cried, shoving Loki to the side with all her strength and leaping out towards the boy.  Loki pulled her back close to him, fighting her flailing limbs as she tried to heave herself away.  “He’s hurt, let go of me!” she yelled.  
    They were surrounded by six armed Chitauri, who made no move to touch them but seemed to be detaining them.  Loki felt a heavy dread sink in his stomach like a stone.  For whom were they detained?  The Other?  Thanos himself?  Searching every cell in his body for some vestige of magic, relief flooded Loki as his breath began to spiral out of his lungs.  He hugged Celia tightly as the transport swept them out of the room.

* * *

  
    Loki and Celia found themselves on a rocky, barren terrain at the edge of a wood.  Still unaccustomed to such an abrupt manner of travel, Celia heaved and ducked her head between her knees.  Loki immediately took stock of their surroundings.  In one direction, across the treetops he could see the palace.  In the other direction, the Asgard Mountains.  Loki had transported them to the outskirts of the city of Asgard, into a place that was relatively uninhabited.  He knew there were some who made their homes in these woods, hermits and sorcerers and wizened old warriors, preferring to live out of the mainstream flow of society that ebbed in the city-proper.  He didn’t generally consider these outsiders dangerous, but he felt rather naked and vulnerable without full control of his magic.  Was it coming back to him?  He was quite certain he had mustered the travel from the fortress to this clearing with his own magic, unlike whatever involuntary force had taken him to and from New York.  
    “That looks bad,” Celia said in a small voice from behind him.  
    She wasn’t exaggerating.  Even from this distance they could tell that there was commotion in the city center, near the palace.  Light streaked across the sky like fireworks, culminating in deep booms and rumblings, and a few pillars of smoke rose ominously.  But there wasn’t any sign of a Leviathan troop transport, and Loki had no idea how the Chitauri had broken into Asgard.  He was a little surprised to find himself feeling frightened for his mother.  Had the Chitauri taken the palace by surprise as they had his island fortress?  Loki knew Thor would defend his kingdom fiercely, and his family more fiercely still.  Putting his fears for Frigga’s safety to the back of his mind -- after all, she wasn’t bad with a sword, herself -- Loki mused that, at least this would distract Thor for a while.  
    “You see, Celia, why you cannot retain possession of Mjøtuor?”  Loki looked at her with affected sympathy.  “The Chitauri are relentless.  They will keep coming for you until they have it.  They do not care what they have to destroy to get it.”    
    Celia was having none of this.  “We have to go back.  We have to make sure Sindri is okay.  And isn’t your family up there?”  She pointed to the city.  “We have to help them.”  
    She resolutely marched toward the treeline.  Loki caught up with her in a few strides.  “And just what do you think you’re going to do?  You don’t even know where you’re going.  Asgardians are much stronger than you, they don’t need you to rescue them.”  
    “Well, then I’ll just wait until they’ve rescued themselves and then I’ll ask _them_ what Mjøtuor does and why everybody is fighting over it and what it has to do with my mother,” Celia replied pointedly.  Her patience with Loki had worn thin.  
    Loki grabbed her arm roughly.  “I would tell you but I _don’t know_.”  
    Celia fixed a deadly stare on Loki’s face, her tone cold enough to get through to even a Frost Giant.  “Let go.”  
    He released her arm and turned away, as fed up with her as she was with him.  
    “You’re lying,” she accused his back.  “You are lying to me and I don’t know why but I swear, Loki, you are not getting _anything_ from me if you aren’t going to tell me the truth.”  
    And with that, she spun on her heel and ran for the trees.      
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I can't tell you how much I appreciate feedback, so please leave a comment if you feel so inclined!
> 
> From here on out, chapters are scheduled to post every weekend. Happy reading :)


	6. The Kindness of Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, in which sometimes you really should just listen to Loki.

* * *

Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water,

unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure.

-Herman Melville, _Moby Dick_ ; or _The Whale_ , 1851

 

    Loki had no intention of letting Celia get very far, but he needed a few moments alone to gain his composure.  He couldn’t quarrel with her, not if Mjøtuor was going to be of any use to him.  But telling her the truth of the capabilities latent in the locket wouldn’t get him very far, either.  Loki knew if he did tell her, Celia would never give it up.  This was a girl who, behind her feisty and headstrong exterior, was grieving for her lost parents.  If she realized she possessed an item she could use to wield absolute power over time, he knew exactly what she would do with it.  He knew this because he would do it, if he still had the luxury of feeling regret.  Go back and right the wrongs.  Prevent the things that mattered most from slipping through his fingers.  Make sure to never again be catastrophically thrust into a version of himself that he hated and couldn’t escape.  
    He counted to ten and then turned to chase her down in the woods.

* * *

  
    Celia didn’t look back as she sprinted away from Loki and into the forest.  There had to be some other Asgardian who could take her to the palace, or at least point her in the right direction.  If other items like her locket were kept there, surely someone could give her the answers she wanted.  She tried to convince herself that Loki’s total lack of concern for his family in the city indicated complete confidence in their ability to resist this Chitauri attack.  _He isn’t a total misanthrope, right?_   By the time she could reach palace on foot, things would be safe and well in hand.  _Right?_   It was a half-baked plan but the best she had, at the moment.  
    The rustling of brush and snapping of branches behind her startled Celia back to her current predicament.  Either she was about to make the acquaintance of some Asgardian woodland creature of unknown friendliness, or Loki was catching up to her.  Well, she wasn’t ready to be caught.  Celia chided herself that it was probably pretty unwise to separate from Loki in this alien land, but she hadn’t simmered down enough yet to be reasonable.  Let him worry about her a little.  Maybe then he’d take her more seriously.  
    To her right was a tangle of gnarled old trees, several yards off the path.  Impulsively, Celia veered toward them.  Loki called her name but she didn’t look back.  She waded through a patch of overgrown brambles and leapt between two tree trunks diverging from a shared snarl of thick roots.  
    Only she never reached the other side.  
    Celia found herself suspended in midair between the trunks.  The world beyond seemed to wobble as she tried to wriggle free, but it was like she was trapped in a gigantic sheet of gelatin.  In the center of the little copse, she saw a tiny hut with a string of dried fish across the porch and a stack of firewood piled neatly beside the front door.  _That wasn’t there before, was it?_  
    A man walked into the yard from behind the house, an axe casually leaned against his shoulder.  The man was clearly quite aged, with a grizzly gray beard reaching well past his waist, but he was robust and very tall.  He caught sight of Celia and stopped in his tracks.  Celia fought against her snare even harder as the man approached and hoisted the axe off his shoulder.  _Please don’t murder me, Lumberjack dude_ , Celia begged silently.  
    But the man simply dropped the axe against one of the trees and crossed his arms over his barrel chest as he appraised Celia with a disapproving stare.  He appeared to be speaking but his words were muffled by the strange gelatinous wall.  After a few moments, the man reached forward, snatched the leather strap at Celia’s shoulder, and dragged her into the clearing.  She fell in heap at his feet.  
    “...wandering in the woods alone, no guard to speak of, who will guard her, I ask you?...” The man continued his muttering as he gathered his axe and made his way to the house.  
    “Um...  Sir?”  Celia interrupted, getting to her feet and patting her chest to make sure Mjøtuor was still fastened to her shirt.  
    He waved an arm without turning around.  “Well, come on, then, Princess,” he called, and disappeared into the house.

* * *

  
    “Celia!” Loki called as she abruptly turned off the path and scrambled into a patch of dense, tangled brambles.  _What is wrong with her?  Where does she think she’s going?_ He made his way carefully off the path, not taking his eyes from her for even a moment, when she suddenly jumped between two trees and vanished.  
     _Damn!_  
    Loki rushed to the spot where Celia had been only moments before and inspected it closely.  It appeared to be a ring of ancient trees with a small clearing in the center, but Loki knew better.  Recognizing the runes carved into each tree, he held his hand up to the space between the trees and gently tapped the air.  It shimmered and quaked; a semi-permeable barrier that ensnared trespassers and rendered invisible the space inside.  There was no telling what Celia had just leapt into.  _Infuriating girl!_  
    He tapped the snare again, and Loki was surprised to feel a surge of magic shiver up his spine.  Closing his eyes, he arched his head back and reveled a moment in the pleasure of it.  _It’s coming back to me._   Had Thor unbound his magic once he realized the Chitauri attacked Loki in the fortress, to give him a fighting chance?  
    Loki pushed his hand through the barrier and pulled apart a space to look inside.  It seemed harmless enough; a little cottage in the clearing with a smoking chimney.  He knew it was exceptionally rude to use his own magic to bypass the wards and intrude on the home of this forest recluse, but he needed to retrieve Celia.  The inhabitant of such a carefully concealed dell might not have taken kindly to her accidental intrusion, and he didn’t want word of Mjøtuor getting out, even in this remote area.  Loki stepped over the tree roots, moving easily through the snare and into the clearing.    
    The door to the little house was ajar, and as Loki approached it he heard voices chatting amicably.  The delicious aroma of berry cake wafted onto the porch.  His tensed muscles relaxed once he realized that Celia was likely safe and sound with whomever she had encountered here.  _Obviously I need her to be alive and well in order to give Mjøtuor to me.  All that matters is Mjøtuor_ , he rationalized, a little alarmed at how relieved he felt.  Yes, Mjøtuor was all that mattered.  And yet, Loki couldn’t stifle the tiny smile that crossed his lips when he heard the bright peal of Celia’s golden laugher.

* * *

  
    Celia had been frightened but determined to keep her cool as she followed the bearded man to his cottage.  She could handle this.  He seemed more grumpy than dangerous.  She just needed directions into Asgard.  And maybe he had a knife or something she could borrow, for protection.  Maybe a bow and arrow.  She had taken a few archery lessons after she’d read _The Hunger Games_ , and she wasn’t half bad as long as she had a pretty big target that stayed really still.    
    “Come in, then, Princess, don’t dawdle,” the man said gruffly, opening the door wide.  
    Celia bristled at what she took for a diminutive -- in New York you didn’t just call a girl a princess unless you were implying something -- but she didn’t want to be impolite and correct the man when she was about to ask him for a favor.  So she simply said, “My name is Celia.”  
    “Just as you say, Princess, just as you say,” he replied, busying himself at the wide hearth.  The little cabin was filled with the welcoming scent of freshly baked cake, and although the single room wasn’t large, it was clean and well appointed with simple wooden furniture.  The man indicated that she should sit at the table, which was strewn with herbs and string.  Bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters.  It all seemed rather homey.    
    “What’s your name?” Celia asked, looking around.  
    “I’m called Ragnkil, my Lady,” he replied, bringing her a plate of warm cake and a crock of cream.    
    “Oh, thank you.”  She flashed him the sweet, sheepish smile she generally reserved for professors when she needed to negotiate up a poor mark on an essay.  “Mister Ragnkil, I need to get into Asgard.  To the palace.  Can you tell me the best way?”  
    “Why don’t you ask _him?_ ” Ragnkil answered sourly, jerking his head towards the door.  Celia figured Loki had followed her here.  He was probably trapped inside those strange jelly walls.  She hoped she’d be able to pull him out when she was ready to go.    
    “Eat your cake, Princess, eat it up.  That’s a good girl.”  Ragnkil tucked a large a cloth around her like a bib.  
    Laughing at this gruff old man’s fussing over her, Celia decided Loki could wait.  She obediently poured cream on her cake and took a bite.  “Oh, this is delicious!”  
    After dutifully eating a few more bites of cake, she asked again, “So can you help me?”  
    “I can help you,” said Ragnkil, walking purposefully to the door and flinging it open.  “I can help you a damn sight more than this trickster.”  
    There was Loki, standing with his legs wide and his arms clasped behind his back, as if he’d been waiting at attention for her.  Celia’s brow knit as she wondered how he made it through the invisible snare.  
    Ragnkil didn’t invite Loki inside.  “What are you doing here, boy?  Let you out of prison, have they?”  
    Loki ignored this remark.  “Celia, why don’t we be on our way?”  
    “The Princess is having her cake,” Ragnkil retorted angrily.  “You just go on now.”  He began to shut the door on Loki.  
    “Mister Ragnkil, wait!” Celia intervened.  “It’s alright.  Loki’s my...” she hesitated, “he’s my friend.”  
    “Oh, no, Princess, no he is not,” Ragnkil said, slightly horrified.  He spoke to her as though she were a child.  “Loki Laufeyson is no one’s friend.  It’s fortunate you ran into me here.  I can protect you.”  He cast a dark glare in Loki’s direction.  
    “But Loki protected me.  Twice.  From the Chitauri,” Celia explained.  
    Ragnkil shook his head.  “He’ll be looking to get something out of it, Princess, you mark my words.”  
    At this, Celia reluctantly looked down at Mjøtuor.  Maybe Ragnkil did have a point...  
    Loki spoke up from the doorway.  “Celia.  I’m only trying to do what’s best for you.  They’ll keep coming for you.  I only want to protect you.”  
    “Let them come!” Ragnkil growled.  “Am I not sworn to protect the princess of Vanaheim?  I made that oath before you were even born, boy!  I made that oath when you couldn’t trust an Asgardian as far as you could throw him.  And you still can’t, if you ask me!  Go on, now!  The princess is safer here with me than out there with you or at your damned father’s palace.”  With this, Ragnkil shoved Loki off the porch and slammed the door.  
    Celia sat at the table, placidly eating her cake.  As far as she was concerned, Loki could wait outside for her until she was ready to go, if he was so eager to escort her.  She wanted some answers and if Loki was unwilling to provide them, it sounded to her like this Ragnkil fellow might know a thing or two.  Either that, or he was completely crazy.  He certainly seemed to have mistaken her for someone else, at the very least.  
    “Mister Ragnkil,” she started, pushing away her empty plate, “I think you might be confusing me with someone else.  I’m not the princess of anywhere.  I’m Celia Andersen.  From New York City.  My parents were just...normal people.”  
    “Oh, is that so, Princess?” Ragnkil said, settling in the chair opposite her at the table.  “Then what are you doing with Mjøtuor?”’  
    Celia clutched the locket.  “I don’t really know.  It was my mother’s.”  
    Ragnkil nodded sagely.  “And her mother’s.  And her mother’s before that.  And so on down the line, I expect.  I was there on the day that locket was bestowed upon your ancestor, Princess.”  
    Celia stared at the old man as she fidgeted with the locket.  Now, it seemed, she might get her answers.  “How long ago was that?”  
    Ragnkil thought it over.  “Couldn’t say, Princess, couldn’t say.  A long time.  A long, long time.  Lost count of the years.”  
    “So Mjøtuor means that I’m a princess?  I don’t understand.  Princess of what?  Is that why the Chitauri want it so much?”  
    Ragnkil seemed lost in his thoughts.  “Midgard.  Of course many of us thought they probably took her to Midgard, but Heimdall couldn’t see her.  Told us she wasn’t there.  Couldn’t find her...”  
    Celia was lost.  “Heimdall?”  
    Ragnkil looked up sharply.  He broke out in a grin at the sight of her, as though he’d forgotten she was there and was seeing her for the first time.  “Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters.”  
    “Mister Ragnkil, please,” Celia pleaded, “please tell me why everyone wants my mother’s locket.”  
    “Because you can control time with it, of course,” he answered, matter-of-factly.  
    “You _can_...?” Celia pressed the clasp to open Mjøtuor and inspected the runic inscription inside.  She concentrated on it, but couldn’t seem to coax out any meaning.  
    “No, Princess, _I_ can’t.  _You_ can.  Mjøtuor was forged to be loyal to the Vanir princess and only the Vanir princess can wield its power,” Ragnkil explained.  “That’s you, now.”  
    “But I’m really not any princess,” Celia protested.  
    “You are,” corrected Ragnkil.  “You are, Princess.  I know it.  It’s in my blood to know it.  I swore an oath to protect the Vanir princess and I feel that oath in every beat of my old heart.”  He crossed his arm, fist clenched, over his chest.  
    Celia hated to argue with Ragnkil when he was so thoroughly entrenched in his conviction, but she was skeptical.  It all sounded too good to be true.  “How am I supposed to use Mjøtuor to control time?  If I were this Vanir princess, wouldn’t I know about it?  Wouldn’t I know how to use Mjøtuor?”  
    Ragnkil scratched his grizzled chin.  “Magic never was really my strength, Princess,” he admitted.  “I know a thing or two that helps me along out here in the woods all alone, but I’m a warrior, not a sorcerer.  You’d have to ask Urðr how it works.  She’d remember.”  
    “Urðr?  Where can I find her?”  
    “She lived with her sisters at Yggdrasil in Asgard but...” he trailed off.  
    Celia leaned forward, “But what?  What happened?”  
    Ragnkil sighed.  “A lot of things changed after the wars, Princess.  I don’t know where to find the Norns now.”  
    “Well, can we look for them?  If you’re sworn to help me, let’s look for them.  If Urðr knows, I need to find her.”    
    Ragnkil shook his head.  “No, Princess, I’m sworn to _protect_ you.  Not help you galavant around the realm on some fool’s errand.  It’s best that you just stay here.  If the Chitauri really are after you, if Loki Laufeyson is up to something, you just stay here where old Ragnkil can protect you.  We can’t lose our princess again.”  
    Frustrated, Celia felt the sting of tears behind her eyes.  “But...  You don’t understand.  If I could control time I could...  My parents...”  Her voice was barely a whisper.  She couldn’t form the words.  She felt strangled by the grief that lived just below the surface, called forward like some insidious parasite feeding on the pain of hope.  Celia would do anything to go back in time and save her parents.  Had she not thought so a million times in the past three years?  And maybe this was her chance...  
    Still, Celia was reluctant to believe this eccentric old hermit.  She couldn’t deny that it was a plausible reason for the Chitauri to hunt her and the locket.  _The power to control time!_   Was she really capable of controlling time?  She desperately wanted to believe that she could, but there were a million reasons why she shouldn’t believe Ragnkil.  Maybe he was senile.  Maybe her grandmother had just picked up the locket at an antique shop or something.  A lot could have happened over so many years Ragnkil couldn’t even count them.  
    Celia also had a million more questions she wanted to ask about this princess business, but something with Ragnkil wasn’t sitting right with her.  As his words swirled in her mind, phrases like, “it’s best you just stay here,” and, “we can’t lose our princess again,” made her decidedly uneasy.  It was time to go.  
    “Well, thank you for your hospitality, Mister Ragnkil, but I need to be leaving now,” she declared firmly, pushing back from the table and edging toward the door.  
    “I’m sorry, Princess, I can’t let that happen,” Ragnkil said, also standing and moving toward the door.  
    Icy panic crept through Celia’s body, freezing her in place, but she spoke with as much fire as she could muster.  “You can’t make me stay here.  If I am your princess, I command you to let me go.”  
    “No, Princess.  I swore an oath to protect you.  It’s in my blood.  Not even you can ask me to break it.  You must stay here now.  It’s not safe out there for you.”  
    Celia backed into the wall and reached up to pound her fist on the high horizontal window above her shoulder.  “Loki!” she cried.    
    “He isn’t there, Princess.  I sent him away.  Loki Laufeyson is no fit companion for the princess of Vanaheim.  He won’t be back.  You’re safe here.”  
    Ragnkil advanced on Celia and reached for her, as if to comfort her.  She smacked his hands away and ducked under his arm, racing for the door.  He made no move to stop her.  But the door wouldn’t budge.  She beat it with her fists and kicked it with Sindri’s boots, enraged by her helplessness.    
    “You’ll see, Princess,” Ragnkil said gently.  “This is for the best.”  
    Celia was too furious to answer.  Instead, she stalked to a little workbench that stood in the corner.  It contained various fishing implements and woodworking tools.  Picking up an awl, she inspected it closely and then hurtled it with all her might at Ragnkil.  Picking up tool after hook after block of wood, Celia aggressively threw them around the room until the bench was bare.  
    Ragnkil stood stoically and weathered her tantrum.  When she was finished, he simply turned and opened the door.  Celia was startled, thinking for a moment she had won, until an invisible force pressed against her.  It prevented Celia from physically moving near the open door, like a repelling magnet, fight though she may to reach it.    
    On his way out, Ragnkil collected a bow and a quiver of arrows hanging next to the door.  “I’ll go get us a nice bird for supper, Princess,” he promised, as if there was no animosity between them.  Closing the door and whistling a jaunty tune, he stepped off the porch and across the clearing, disappearing through the trees.  
    Celia wrapped her fist in the cloth Ragnkil had tied around her like a bib and pounded frantically on the narrow windows fitted into the walls of the cabin.  The thick glass didn’t even rattle, much less break.  She ran back to the door and kicked at the handle, though she knew it was futile.  Flinging her back against it, Celia slid to the floor, screaming at the empty room.    
    The floor seemed to pitch, as though she were on a boat in rough seas.  The walls shimmered and swayed in and out of focus.  Her screaming echoed in her own head, yet it sounded distant and detached from her body, which was beginning to feel heavy and numb.  Celia suddenly felt so tired she feared she would die of tiredness if she didn’t lay down and go to sleep while the world tossed and spun around her.  She crawled toward the bed, but the last thing she remembered was how curious everything looked from the floor before falling into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this, thank you. I'd love to hear what you thought in the comments.  
> Chapter 7 goes up next weekend.


	7. The Worst Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7, in which Loki is a very reluctant hero and the slow-build begins.

* * *

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

-William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_ , c. 1590s

  
    Not far from Ragnkil’s cottage, Loki paced back and forth between the trees.  It was starting to get dark, and there was still no sign of Celia.  Something was wrong.  He could feel it.  
    He could also feel his magic, faintly humming in his body, very weak but decidedly _there_.  Loki couldn’t understand what was happening to it.  Had it been bound so poorly that it would behave in such an erratic way, that it could resist and break free?  One moment, it surged strongly enough to project or transport him to another realm, and then it was gone as surely as when it was first bound.  Each time, he mused, had something to do with Celia.  The clues about Mjøtuor, saving her from the Chitauri in Manhattan.  Those instances had felt involuntary, triggered by some heightened emotion or deep contemplation.    
    But the magic that had allowed him to transport them to the forest and to breach Ragnkil’s boundary?  That felt more like _his_ magic.  That felt more familiar, controlled.  The trouble was, now it felt too spent to use again, as if the battery had run low.  _You are not Stark with his ridiculous metal suit_ , Loki sternly admonished himself.  No, he was better than that.  He didn’t need some manufactured source of power.  Loki’s magic was part of him.  At present, it was a weakened muscle, stiff and small and feeble from disuse, but it was not out of his control.    
    He had been unable to fight the invisible force that, when Ragnkil shut Loki out of the cottage, seemed to suck him back through the gelatinous walls that encircled the clearing and expelled him into the forest.  He hadn’t been able to summon his own magic quickly enough to counter that of the barrier. The force had taken Loki by surprise, and his magic wasn’t as powerful nor as reflexive as he was used to.  Before he could react, Loki had found himself back on the other side of the perimeter, unable to see or hear the clearing within.  
    Furious, he’d scrambled to his feet and charged back to the clearing, no longer inclined to be patient with that crazy old recluse and prepared to wreak havoc on those irritating enchanted snares.  _How dare he!_   Who did Ragnkil think he was?  Some ancient Vanir guard, holed up at the edge of the forest rather than assimilate into Asgard like the rest of them did.  He had no right to treat Loki with such impudence.        
    But Loki stopped himself just in time.  He knew that he couldn’t muster the magic, as he had before, to pass through the boundary without being trapped inside.  
    This would not do, not at all.  At first, Loki expected Celia would follow him out shortly, once she realized that Ragnkil was probably unable and unwilling to help her reach the city.  So he waited, conjuring little snakes and making flowers vanish in an attempt to flex his magic and work it back up to a useable strength.    
    But then, he thought he heard Celia cry out, call his name.  _I must be imagining things_.  Loki shook it off.  He couldn’t hear anything through those invisible walls.  A vapor of anxiety set in all the same, fogging his every thought.  What was taking so long?  
    Then, he noticed the barrier begin to waver.  _Ah, finally._   Celia must be coming out now.    
    It was Ragnkil.  
    Loki vanished from where he stood and reappeared behind a wide tree trunk several yards away.  _Oh, that was good_.  He smiled to himself, pleased that his magic seemed to be reconstituting.  His success distracted him for only a moment, and he watched Ragnkil slip away, preparing his bow with an arrow and silently moving between the trees.  _Where is she?_   Something was wrong.  Loki knew it.  
    He waited until Ragnkil was well out of sight, until he could no longer hear the old man shuffling through the wood, before cautiously approaching the clearing once more.  Slowly, deliberately, Loki lifted his fingers to the invisible barrier, sounding it out as though playing a tune by ear on an unknown instrument.  He wasn’t entirely sure he could breach the gelatinous wall, but he couldn’t lose this opportunity.  There was no telling how long Ragnkil would be gone.  
    Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, Loki stepped between the trees.  The walls of the barrier pulled at him, engulfing his body like a strong tide, but he fought against it.  With great effort, Loki summoned enough magic to shrug off the resistance of the walls.  He fell to his knees inside the little clearing, heart pounding as his mind and body seemed to contract with fatigue.  After a few steadying breaths, he hefted himself to his feet and observed Ragnkil’s cabin.  In the fading light of the evening, Loki was surprised to see the windows dim.  _Where is Celia?_   Panic galvanized Loki as he rushed to the cabin door and wrenched the handle.  
    It refused to yield.  
     _Damn!  Damn!  Damn Ragnkil!_ Loki thought with every blow as he kicked at the heavy wooden door again and again.    
    “Celia!” he called.  
    There was no answer.  
    The vapor of anxiety crystalized into a block of ice that sunk in his gut.  _Where is she?_   Loki felt as possessive of Celia as he did of Mjøtuor.  Had it not been his own cleverness that found them both?  Had he not kidnapped -- no, _rescued_ \-- them fair and square?  With this thought, an image of Celia fixed itself in his mind; framed by a mandorla of golden hair as she tucked herself into his bed, and then the sound of her trying out his name.  _“Thanks.  For rescuing me.”_    
    Finding his way around to one of the high, horizontal windows in the side wall of the cabin, Loki peered inside.  In the residual pink glow of the twilight, the cabin looked empty.  Loki noted the chairs pulled away from the table at odd angles.  He could make out a workbench in one corner.  In the irregular flicker thrown off the dying fire in the hearth, it looked like tools littered the floor.  _That cannot bode well..._  
    Circling around to the opposite window, Loki sought a view of the other side of the one-room cabin.  He was facing the hearth now, and the light made it difficult to see that side of the room.  There was the silhouette of a large wooden bed just beneath the opposite window, and the outline of a shape crumpled on the ground before it.  
    “Celia!” Loki pounded the window.  “Celia!”  
    Suddenly, Loki couldn’t think straight.  Fury at Ragnkil and desperate panic at the sight of Celia’s unconscious form roiled in his mind.  His magic surged with his heightened emotion and adrenaline electrified his fatigued body.  Loki flung out this visceral energy, disappearing on the spot and transporting himself to Celia’s side.  He slammed into the wooden floor of Ragnkil’s cabin with such force, the slats splintered and cracked.    
    Loki gave no thought to catching his breath.  His chest heaved painfully as it worked to draw air into his lungs, but he was more concerned with detecting some rise and fall in the little body that was sprawled on the floor before him.  He gently swept Celia’s tangled hair aside and laid his hands on his own shirt that covered her back.  Yes, he could feel her ribs expand and contract.  She was breathing.  Barely.    
    Marveling at how his hands spanned the entire width of Celia’s back, Loki knelt there for a moment, his fingers curving around the sides of her ribs.  He breathed deeply, slow and steady, as though his hands could act as a conduit to push and pull air through Celia’s lungs, when his own name reverberated against his hands.  
    “Loki?” she murmured.    
    Loki sat up abruptly.  His hands lingered just a few seconds on Celia’s waist before he came to his senses, his priorities falling back into line.  
    “Celia, where is Mjøtuor?  Are you alright?”  
    “Loki,” she repeated, stirring but too weak to sit herself up.  
    “Yes,” he replied, looking around the room, trying to piece together what had transpired that ended with Celia unconscious on the floor, alone in the dark.  The chairs askew, the tools littering the ground, it seemed that Celia had put up some sort of fight.  _Of course she did_ , he thought, recalling the pepper spray back in her apartment and the way she’d lunged for Sindri when the Chitauri knocked the boy out.  She was a fighter.  Then Loki noticed the dried herbs and realized immediately what must have happened.  She'd never stood a chance.  _Damn you, Ragnkil._   The cake and cream.  The old man must have drugged her.  _Why?  For Mjøtuor?_    
    The chirp of Ragnkil’s jolly whistle floated across the clearing, cutting into Loki’s thoughts.  _Time to go._   He reached for Celia and drew her gently into his arms.  She was cold and pale and limp, but she seemed otherwise uninjured so he forced himself to check his concern.  Mjøtuor was still secured to her chest.  That was the important thing, was it not?  _And she can’t give it to me if she’s dead_.  Crouching, he cradled Celia tightly to him, not trusting his exhausted arms to hold her up if he stood, and wearily reached deep down to find some lingering strength to transport them out of this place.  The cabin shuddered but did not disappear.    
    Loki sighed, exasperated with himself.  He was so tired.  
    But Ragnkil’s heavy footsteps thumped on the porch and the door handle was turning.  Loki wasn’t sure he could fight Ragnkil while he was this weary, and he _was_ sure it would come to that if the old man was so determined to keep Celia that he’d drugged her.    
    Celia murmured Loki’s name again and burrowed her face into his chest.  Closing his eyes, Loki rallied the little energy he had left, forcing it to spiral out of his chest.  It felt thick and heavy, like mud rather than water.  He looked up and met Ragnkil’s startled gaze, barely registered shock and rage blossoming on the wizened face as the old man watched Loki and Celia disappear.  

* * *

     
    In his exhaustion and urgency to leave Ragnkil’s cabin, Loki had not really thought through any particulars of a useful destination.  He and Celia materialized at the base of a monumental and ancient tree, somewhere deep in the woods.  The immense system of roots was covered with soft moss and feathery bracken, wrapped in red-leafed vines, and dotted with tiny white flowers shaped like stars.  Loki noticed none of this in the bright light of the almost-full moon, instead collapsing among the roots against the towering trunk and letting Celia fall across his lap.  He felt her tremble as the cool night air permeated the thin green shirt she wore.  
    Tense even in his exhaustion, Loki listened to the sounds of the forest rustling.  After a few moments, he decided that Ragnkil probably had not followed them.  He could hear nothing alarming, not even the call of an animal to break the white noise of the wind gently shaking the leaves of these antediluvian trees.  They could rest here for a while and he could figure out what to do.    
    Arranging his legs so they were propped up on a heavy root, Loki shifted Celia so she was nestled against him.  He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and another around her knees to curl her into a tight little ball.  Her head pressed into his shoulder as she settled into the crook of his arm.  He hoped she would stop shivering.  
    Loki let his own head fall back against the rough bark of the tree and closed his eyes, not to sleep but to take inventory of this latest disaster he had wrought.  The Other was after them.  Some crazy old Vanir coot might be after them.  Thor would be after him once the threat from the Chitauri was checked.  Loki wondered whether Thor would believe that the attack had been set up as a diversion so Loki could escape.  _Would have been an excellent idea if they were still mine to command._    
    Everything was in chaos, which would normally rather please Loki if he could just position himself at the eye of the hurricane somehow.  The answer to all his problems was right there in his lap and the stubborn girl wouldn’t give it to him.  Manipulation was what Loki did best, but he couldn’t figure out how to persuade this mortal girl to bend to his will?  
    He felt her arms snake around his torso and pull herself tighter against him.    
   _She’s cold_ , Loki reminded himself.  Yet after a few moments, he found himself pleasantly lulled by how their bodies swelled together as they breathed in synch.  When he realized this, he held his breath for a few beats to break the rhythm.  
    And at that moment, Loki suddenly remembered that Celia had described him to Ragnkil as her friend.  _Not that I really care..._   Loki didn’t have friends, just people he was nice to so he could use them.  He looked down at Celia, at this girl who had called his name when she needed help, who held him now and lay so trusting and peaceful in his arms.  _Who else would she call to here?_ Loki reproached himself scornfully.  _She didn’t have any choice.  She’s been drugged.  She’s cold._   He dourly shook off the damnable creeping sentimentality that compelled him think about how Celia’s hair shone so silvery-gold in the moonlight, making her appear to glow like a magical creature.    
    Loki wasn’t yet convinced that she _wasn’t_ a magical creature, at least to him.  He was uncharacteristically unnerved by her.  Celia was entirely aware that he was attempting to deceive her, even got angry at him for it, yet she seemed perfectly willing to accept his better moments at face value, willing to believe that he was capable of these earnest moments at all.  It was so different from Thor or Frigga, who continued to love him out of duty, which Loki keenly resented.  It felt reproachful.  His family regarded him with pity and contempt, setting him up to fail in their esteem by expecting to be let down by him as they hoped for the best with an air of tragic endurance.  _We love you, darling, always, but you make it very difficult, treating it like such a burden_ , Frigga had said to him the last time he spoke to her.  But it _was_ such a burden.  It came with so many qualifications and disappointments.    
    Loki found himself wishing there was some way for him to have Mjøtuor without destroying this fragile faith Celia seemed to balance in her regard for him.  It seemed a precious thing, one he had almost forgotten.  
_Stop this childish pining!  She had no choice but to call for me.  She will despise me soon enough and it is of little consequence if she does.  Once I have taken Mjøtuor, I won’t need such a pathetic pittance from a human girl, or Thor, or anyone else.  I’ll have the power that is my birthright._  
    It was some time before Loki drifted off, exhausted though he was, as he studiously attempted to ignore how comforting he found that persistent rhythm of Celia’s slow, steady breathing against his chest.

* * *

  
    The forest was filled with a diffused lavender radiance when Loki awoke just before dawn.  It was beautiful and pleasant, this tranquil quietude.  Celia’s arms were still wrapped around him, and his were wrapped around her.  He didn’t want to move.  He felt warm.  
    “Hi,” Celia said quietly, startling him.  She had been awake for a while.  
    “Hello,” he replied, awkwardly.  “Are you alright?”  
    Celia gave him a shy smile.  “Well...leather and metal don’t exactly make the most comfortable place to sleep, but...”  She trailed off, one hand drifting to his breastplate.  Absently, she ran her fingers across the edge of the metal detail at his chest.  
    “No, I meant...”  
    Celia interrupted him, “I’m fine.”  
    A few beats passed in silence.    
    “And, I’m sorry,” Celia said.  
    Loki sighed.  “You couldn’t have known.”  
    “Yeah, but... It was stupid.  And you rescued me again.”  
    He nodded.    
    “Thanks.” Celia whispered, spreading her hand flat across his chest now.  “Glad I can count on you to have my back.”  
    “I told you before, it was my pleasure.”  
    “Mmhmm.  Because I’m the princess of Vanaheim?”  The question was matter-of-fact, but not accusatory.    
    Loki didn’t answer.    
    “Because you want to use Mjøtuor for something you don’t want to tell me about?”    
    Loki looked at her defensively.  “Ragnkil is...”  
    “He’s crazy but I don’t think he’s a liar,” Celia said curtly.  “I know _you_ have been lying to me, Loki.”  She sat up, pushing herself off his lap and turning to face him.  The misty morning air replaced the pleasant warmth where her body had been curled around his.  It felt lonely, somehow.  Cold.  “You might as well just tell me what you want with me,” Celia continued, not unkindly.  “Or with the locket, now that I know what it is.  You don’t just want it to keep it out of worse hands.  I’m not an idiot.  You want it for something but you can’t use it yourself so you need me to help you.  And you could have just been honest with me in the first place, you know.  I probably would have helped you.”  
    Loki gave a sardonic laugh.  “Why?  Why would you help me?  Maybe there are no worse hands than mine.”  
    Celia reached forward and took his wrist.  She brought his hand into her lap and turned it to face upward.  Studying it intently, she traced the lines in his palm, as if she could divine whether evil lurked there.  “Maybe not,” she said.  “I don’t know.”  Her blue eyes blazed as she met his gaze and lay her own hand palm up in his.  “What makes you think _my_ hands are so great?  Maybe I have awful secrets in my past, too.”  
    Loki raised an eyebrow.    
    “My parents’ accident,” Celia said quietly, looking down again at their hands in her lap.  She resumed gently stroking his palm, running her hand methodically from his wrist to the tips of each of his long fingers.  “Right before it happened, I was talking to my mom on the phone and we were fighting about...I don’t know, I was being selfish and horrible.  Anyway, I yelled at her that I wished she wasn’t my mother and that I hated her and I hung up the phone.”  
    Loki stared at Celia as she wiped a tear on her sleeve and heaved a shaky sigh.  She glanced up now but evaded his face, turning instead to look into the forest in an attempt to hide her tears from him as she continued in a matter-of-fact tone.  “And then they got hit by a drunk driver and they were killed.  The last thing I said to my mother,” Celia shook her head, a disgusted, bitter laugh escaping her lips, “was that I _hated_ her.  I am a terrible person.  Somehow I _know_ it's my fault.”  
    With this declaration, Celia thrust out her chin as if to defy Loki to disagree.  “So I get it, okay?  I get why you’d want this.”  She looked him in the eye now.  “Is yours worse than that, Loki?  Because I’m not judging you here.  I’d never want anyone to feel like this.  Regret...it’s poison.  I'd never stand in the way of someone getting a second chance.”  
    Loki couldn’t stop staring at her.  He wanted to wrap his arms around Celia and comfort her, but the impulse was so foreign to him that he didn’t act on it.  So, dragging his eyes away from her anguished face, he simply murmured, “Mine is...it’s so much worse.”  
    Celia lifted Loki’s hand to inspect it again, but it did not reveal to her what he had done.  Then she clasped his hand in both of hers and hugged it tightly before she released it.  She didn’t ask him why his was worse, simply drew knees into her chest and waited.  
    “What was that for?” Loki asked after a moment.  
    “You,” Celia replied.  “I don’t know.  Just...you must need a hug if yours is worse.  Listen, Loki.  You don’t have to give me the details, okay?  I think that... I don’t really care why yours is worse.  Right now, I need something from you, too.  So, we’re going to help each other.”  She looked at him sternly, like she wasn’t taking no for an answer.  
    Loki nodded, trying to keep the grin that played across his lips from seeming too wicked.  She was practically handing him the locket on a silver platter with this declaration of solidarity.  Never mind that he could still feel that cold loneliness in the empty place where she had held herself close to him.  That was not his concern.  He wouldn’t miss it once he had the power to control time.  Loki resolutely pushed it to the back of his mind.  “When do we start?”  
    Celia returned his grin.  “After breakfast?” she said, hopefully.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my darling-est darlings. I love nothing more than discussing fanfic and headcanons and all of that so please leave your thoughts in the comments if you have some you feel like sharing! 
> 
> Chapter 8 will post next weekend, in which everything you need to know about time travel you learned from Doc Brown and Marty McFly. Unfortunately Loki has never seen Back to the Future.


	8. The Thirst That From The Soul Doth Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight, in which there are (believe it or not) more essential things than breakfast.

* * *

For whatsoever from one place doth fall,

Is with the tide unto an other brought:

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

-Edmund Spenser, _The Faerie Queene_ , c. 1590

    Loki was still reclining languidly against the tree trunk with his legs propped up on a curve of mossy root as the pale pre-dawn light ripened into a golden morning.  Celia, who was trying not to sulk too much about there not being any breakfast, clambered around in the vast jungle of the roots and vines at the base of the tree.  Smiling to himself as he observed her unceasing motion -- hopping from one root to the next, testing her balance on one leg, swinging her arms wildly when she misjudged her footing -- Loki wondered to himself whether Celia was always this kinetic.  It rather reminded him of when he and Thor were children, and Loki would try to sit quietly and read while Thor whirled around him like a storm, bent on enticing him to play-fight.  The thought crept over Loki with a frosty, unpleasant numbness.  He shook it off.  
    “So,” Loki said to Celia, “what am I to help you do?”  
    She answered him upside down, hanging from a low branch by her knees.  Her hair streamed down like a waterfall.  “You know how to do magic.”   
    “Yes.”  
    “But you really can’t use it to get us any breakfast?” Celia confirmed, her tone heavy with the challenge.  They had been discussing the matter of breakfast for some time, and Celia was as disgruntled over the principle of not getting her way as she was about the missed meal.  
    Loki rolled his eyes at the absurdity of having to repeat this conversation, now with the added ridiculousness of Celia staring at him imploringly while upside down.  “I think it wise to reserve my strength for more essential matters, don’t you?” he reiterated.  
    “More essential than _breakfast?_ ”  
    “I know it’s difficult, but try to imagine it.”  
    Celia unwound herself from the branch and went to sit at Loki’s side.  Her long hair was wild and tangled with little flowers and bits of leaves and ferns.  She looked every bit an impish fairy princess and Loki crossed his arms over his chest to prevent himself from reaching out and taking a flower from her hair.    
    “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Celia informed him with theatrical solemnity.  
    “Well,” he said, leaning toward her, “if you want the use of my magic, you will have to learn to live without breakfast for today.”  
    “Fine,” she conceded.  “So, you can do magic.”  
    “ _Yes_.”  This was getting tiresome.  
    “Do you know how to do the magic that makes the locket work?”  
    “Ehh,” Loki hedged.  “In theory.  Yes.  But its full power is only possible once it is united with the stone.”  
    “The stone?”  
    “The Time Gem.  In the palace, heavily guarded with any luck.”  Heavily guarded so that the Chitauri were not able to steal it.  Not so heavily guarded that Loki could not.  
    “I don’t get the impression that anyone is just going to hand it over to us,” Celia observed.  
    “Hence reserving my strength for things more important than breakfast,” Loki replied.  
    “But once we get the stone, you know what to do?”  
    “In theory.”  
    “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen _Back to the Future_ ,” Celia mused.  
    Loki could not even bring himself to dignify this nonsense query with a response.  
    “Right,” Celia continued in his silence.  “Well, in _Back to the Future_ , when they go back in time and change stuff, it totally messes up the space-time continuum and, like, alters the future in really sucky ways.  And really bad things happen if you run into your future self.  Or past self.  Wait, maybe that’s the second movie?  I forget.  Anyway...  What do you know about the space-time continuum?”  She narrowed her eyes at Loki.  
    “What do _you_ know about the space-time continuum?” Loki shot back.  
    “Not much, but everything I _do_ know, I learned from _Back to the Future_.  Hence, I would like to make sure that someone knows how to actually use this thing because I would like to not make things any worse than they already are.  I don’t need to come back and find out that Biff is now my dad or something.”  
    “It’s an artifact that has been lost for thousands of years, Celia.  No one has ever actually used it, as far as I know.”  
    This was not what Celia wanted to hear.  If no one had ever used it, how did anyone know that it worked at all?  “Ragnkil said someone called Urðr would know more about it.”  
    “And did he tell you where to find her?” Loki asked smugly.  
    “Yes, as a matter of fact he did.  Well, wait...”  She strained her memory for the unfamiliar words.  “He said she lived with her sisters at Yggdrasil?  In Asgard?  Does that mean anything to you?”    
    “Yes.  It means that no one has spoken to her in at least as long as anyone has seen your locket.”  
    “But she’s still there?” asked Celia.  
    “I don’t know.”  
    “Well can we _find out?_ ” Celia was getting annoyed at Loki’s unhelpfulness.  Did he want to use Mjøtuor or not?  
    “If we go to the Yggdrasil and she isn’t there, what then?”   
    “Then...” Celia huffed, “I guess we improvise.  But first, due diligence.  I’m the princess of Vanaheim, apparently, and I feel like I have a little responsibility not to ruin the space-time continuum.”  
    “Very benevolent, Your Highness,” Loki sneered.  
    “Silence, peasant,” Celia commanded with a mock-regal tone.  She smiled to indicate that she was only joking.  
    Loki sat up straighter and informed her haughtily, “I’ll have you know, I am a prince of Asgard.”  
    Celia’s smile fell.  “Oh...  Then why was Ragnkil so hostile toward you?  Why were we sneaking around your palace the other night?”  
    “It’s a long story,” Loki said, getting to his feet stiffly.  He looked around the wood and then up at the sun climbing toward its apex in the sky.  “We’d better be going if we’re to make the city by nightfall.”  
    “Can’t you, like, beam us over?” Celia asked, somewhat petulantly.  _No breakfast and a day-long hike?  Ugh_.  
    “I could, but we’re going to need the full strength of my magic once we reach the city.  I promise when we arrive, I will procure you a feast.”  Loki held out his hand to her and pulled Celia to her feet.  She stood inches from him, her hands reaching reflexively to his waist to steady herself from a little too much momentum.  She looked up into his face for a moment and then abruptly took a step back and began smoothing down her feral hair with her hands.  It was self-conscious and a little charming, but Loki suddenly wondered what state his own hair must be in.  He pushed it back from his face, shaking out bits of bark, and turned to face the direction of the city.

* * *

  
    Loki had been worried that Celia wouldn’t be up for the long trek to the city, had even resigned himself to carrying her if she got too tired.  But Celia kept up an impressive pace, bounding ahead of him and flitting around with the energy of a deer.  She refused to let Loki outpace her, seemed staunchly determined to prove that she could keep up with him, and the sights and sounds of the forest constantly distracted her seemingly short attention span.  Celia was particularly taken with the flora of the wood, and had collected a colorful bouquet of wildflowers and leaves that she wove into a diadem, crowning herself reverently.  
    “Celia, the Seelie Queen,” Loki remarked, laughing in spite of himself.  “Is that the origin of your name?  Your parents mistook you for a Light Elf of Alfheim?”**  
    Celia grinned.  “Some of my friends call me Seelie.”  She paused before adding, “You can call me Seelie, if you want to.”  
     _She said it again_.  “Because we’re such great _friends?_ ” Loki said, his tone full of contempt.  
    “So it would seem,” Celia shot back.  “But no, I have no idea what Light Elves you’re talking about.  My name comes from English literature.  Have you ever heard the poem ‘Song To Celia’ by Ben Johnson?”  
    Loki had not.  
    “Well, technically I guess it’s an Elizabethan adaptation of an ancient Greek poem,” she explained, and then quickly recited:  
  
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,  
         And I will pledge with mine;  
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,  
         And I’ll not look for wine.  
The thirst that from the soul doth rise  
         Doth ask a drink divine;  
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,  
         I would not change for thine.  
  
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,  
         Not so much honouring thee  
As giving it a hope, that there  
         It could not withered be.  
But thou thereon didst only breathe,  
         And sent’st it back to me;  
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,  
         Not of itself, but thee.”  
  
    They walked a few moments in silence after Celia reached the end of the poem, their footsteps falling into the rhythm of its meter.       
    “Ah, the fiction of love, how quaint,” Loki finally said, his voice dripping with overdone sarcasm to mask the fact that he had actually very much enjoyed Celia’s recitation.  
    “It isn’t a fiction!” Celia protested.  “It's a powerful thing!  He says that he wouldn’t even trade Celia’s love for the nectar of the gods!  Maybe since you basically are one, that doesn’t mean as much to you, but no one here,” she gestured around the woods, empty but for the two of them, “is impressed by what a cynic you are.”  
    “I’m not being cynical, she sends back his flowers at the end!”   
    “But it doesn’t say Celia’s rejecting him,” she insisted.  “She’s sending him back a part of her.  Anyway, I always believed that they found their way to each other, in the end.”  Celia walked a few steps ahead of Loki so he couldn’t argue her point.    
    He adjusted his stride and caught up to her easily.    
    She skipped ahead again.  
    He quickly walked ahead of her.  They were heading out of the treeline now and into a rocky clearing that led to the outskirts of Asgard city-proper.    
    Celia couldn’t stand for Loki to have the last word in this walking competition, and she darted past him but soon slowed to a halt when she realized that she didn’t know where they should be heading.  The edges of the city loomed up ahead.  She doubled back and returned to Loki’s side, suddenly feeling less emboldened than she had during their walk through the peaceful, empty forest.  The silhouette of the palace seemed intimidating in the dusky blue distance, and although there were no longer signs of an ongoing attack, Celia had not forgotten that the Chitauri were after her.    
    “We should change our appearances here,” Loki said.  
    “What are we going to do, roll in the mud?  Make ghillie suits?” Celia asked, holding out her hands and looking around.  
    “This is why you gave up breakfast.”  
    “Ooooohhhhh,” Celia breathed, the plan dawning on her.  “You’re going to disguise us with _magic?_   Does it hurt?”  
    “No, of course not.”  In a flash of green, Loki transformed into a palace guard.  A ruddy, freckled countenance replaced his usual pallor and fiery red hair poked out from beneath his helmet.  He was pleased to find that the disguise slipped on easily.  His magic felt stronger.  
    “Niiiiice,” Celia said, nodding with approval.  “Do I get to be a guard, too?”  
    “Not quite,” Loki said, as the green flash engulfed Celia.  
    A shiver streaked down her body, and in an instant it was gone.  She looked down at herself, seeing the same brown leather pants and boots she had borrowed from Sindri, but now a dun colored shirt and leather tunic had replaced Loki’s green shirt she had worn.  Holding her hands out and turning them over, she asked quietly, “I’m Sindri?”  
    “Is that alright?”   
    “Do you think he’s dead?”  
    Loki considered this for a second.  “I very much hope not,” he said.  
    Celia nodded, patting her chest to get a feel for this new appearance she now wore.  “Wait!  Where did Mjøtuor go?” she asked frantically.  
    “Everything is all still there, it only appears different to your senses,” Loki assured her.  “Appearances are deceiving.”  
    Celia took a few steps forward, following Loki over to the start of a paved path.  
    “ _Oh my god!_ ” she shrieked, stopping in her tracks.  “Wow, this is awkward.  Is this what it feels like to walk around with this stuff all the time?  Geez...”  She adjusted the crotch of her pants awkwardly and resumed walking, slightly bowlegged.

* * *

  
    It took them about an hour to reach the city-proper from the treeline.  Celia was fading fast, hungry and dehydrated, exhausted and running on adrenaline.  She had wasted quite a lot of energy bounding around all afternoon, and now she was just looking forward to having somewhere to lie down.  Loki would have offered to carry her, but it wouldn’t have looked right for a palace guard to be carrying a servant boy.  Celia’s pride would have refused the offer, anyway.  She wasn’t used to having to work this hard to excel at physical activities but she stubbornly dragged herself along with Loki’s long-legged stride.  Not that it was a competition but Celia had a way of making everything a competition in her own mind.  She would have sooner walked her legs down to stumps than ask Loki to slow his pace for her.  They continued in silence as dusk darkened to night.    
    By the time the road began weaving into the clusters of buildings at the periphery of Asgard, Celia was too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to be awed by the majesty of the dense city with the same level of enthusiasm she’d had in the woods.  She was also feeling rather vulnerable as they began passing Asgardians on the street.  Walking as close to Loki as she reasonably could while they wore these disguises, Celia kept her gaze on the tips of her boots to avoid making eye contact with anyone.  Her run-in with Ragnkil made her wary of these strangers.  
    After guiding them through the labyrinthine streets that wound closer to the city center, Loki stopped at a gravel path leading up to a stone-and-metal building punctured with many windows.  Its undulating and interlocking forms reminded Celia of the Frank Gehry designed concert hall she had seen in Los Angeles.  Loki knelt and scooped a handful of gravel into his palm.  The pebbles were lovely and rose-golden, glimmering when they caught the light from the windows.    
    Closing his free hand over his palmful of gravel and looking around surreptitiously, Loki crouched away from the street and a quick flash of green light shone between his fingers.  He took one hand away to reveal a pile of dull hack-silver pieces and bobbed his hand as if calculating their weight.  “This should be more than enough to put us up for the night.”  
    Celia gave a withering sigh.    
    “And something to eat,” Loki reassured her.  
    They made their way up the path and through a tall arched doorway, into a warm foyer where every highly polished stone surface gleamed in the dancing light thrown by an enormous fire pit that looked like a sunken copper pot.  Celia was grateful for the warmth that began to envelop her weary bones and she went immediately to kneel beside it.  Her feet ached; Sindri’s boots were just slightly too big and she wasn’t wearing any socks.  Off the foyer was a lively tavern, from which the wafting scent of something delicious made Celia’s stomach grumble insistently.  As much as she would have liked to follow the scent to sit down in the tavern and have some dinner, the raucous laughter that bounced around and echoed off the high ceilings of the foyer made her head ache.    
    Loki stood tapping his fingers impatiently on a high counter that ran the length of the back wall.  He dumped his handful of hack-silver onto a scale by way of a reply to the man who came out from a back room and greeted him.    
    “I’ll be needing a room for the night, and meals for two sent up directly,” Loki ordered.  
    The man nodded as he examined the hack-silver and recorded its weight.  “Come from the palace, have you?” he asked Loki pleasantly, appraising the disguise.  “I suppose it’s still in chaos what with the damage at the south wing.  Have you come for a bit of a rest?”    
    Loki seized the opportunity.  “Why, what have you heard?”  
    “Oh, not much, the whole city has been locked down because of the attack,” the man told him.  “They say the Chitauri came to break Loki Laufeyson out of house arrest.  He seems to have escaped, in any case.  Or, at least, that’s the rumor.  But why attack in the palace?  Is it true that they went straight for the Allfather’s weapons vault?  What were they looking for?  Loki Laufeyson is up to something, you mark my words.”  
    Loki didn’t respond, and the man kept chattering as he flipped through a large book to select for Loki a vacant room.  “Well, I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.  Been a good long while since there’s been an attack of this magnitude in Asgard, so last night was rather frightening, but Thor Odinson and you lot certainly seem to have managed it because they told us when they sent word of the all-clear that there weren’t many casualties, just a few guards.”  He paused, looking contrite, and added, “I hope none of your friends, but I’m sure they died a warrior’s death.”  
    “Indeed,” said Loki coldly.  He reached out to take the large gold key the innkeeper proffered and signed a made-up name in the ledger the man slid across the countertop.  “Did they say whether anything in the vault had been disturbed?”  
    The man looked confused.  “You’re asking me?  Didn’t you just come from the palace?”  
    “I only wondered what sort of rumors are circulating,” Loki replied defensively.  
    “Oh,” the innkeeper relaxed.  “Well, they said nothing was stolen, but it is concerning, I won’t lie.  First the Jotuns and now the Chitauri?  I don’t like it.  I know the Allfather has a responsibility to the nine realms to protect those artifacts, but I don’t like it.”  
    “Nor do I,” Loki agreed.  
    “Well, I hope you have a peaceful night,” the man said kindly.  “We’ll send up a nice feast for you and your man.  Up those stairs to the top, door on the left.  It has a spectacular view of the city.  Let us know if there is anything else you may require.”  He tipped the hack-silver into a velvet pouch and tied it shut with a silk string.  
    Celia lolled, half-asleep by the fire pit.  Waiting until the innkeeper had disappeared into the back room, Loki lifted Celia into his arms and ascended the grand staircase.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In traditional faerie folklore, “seelie” refers to benevolent faeries, in opposition to more malevolent “unseelie” faeries. In Norse mythology, these classifications correspond to the light and dark elves of Alfheim and Svartalfheim, respectively.
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you here next weekend for chapter 9.


	9. The Stolen Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Nine, in which maybe Loki needs Celia more than he realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the hiatus, I started a new job and moved to a new city and have not had consistent internet access. I'll post a batch of chapters now, and thanks for your patience!

* * *

 

Lingering is so very lonely when one lingers all alone.

-Mervyn Peake, _Titus Groan_ , 1946

 

    “What are you doing?” Celia protested sleepily.  “Put me down, I can walk.”  
    But Loki didn’t comply and Celia didn’t argue.  She lay her head on his shoulder and grumbled, “This armor is pointy.”  
    They reached the top of the stairs and Loki opened the door on the left.  Floor to ceiling windows framed with heavy blue drapes lined one wall.  There was a large sleigh bed and a circle of cushions surrounding a smaller version of the fire pit in the foyer.  A writing desk was tucked into one corner and through a set of French doors Celia saw what looked like a large bathroom covered in white tiles.    
    Loki set Celia on the bed and went to pull the drapes across the windows before wearily dropping their disguises.    
    A knock sounded at the door.  “Sir?  Your meal...”  
    Loki groaned.  He was as exhausted as Celia and keeping up their disguised appearances was starting to strain him.  He felt as eager to put his disguise back on to answer the door as Celia was to shove her blistered feet back into the boots she’d just kicked off.  Loki gestured for Celia to go into the bathroom.  “Fill the tub,” he murmured to her as she passed.  
    “You may leave it by the fire,” Loki called to the servant, ducking into the bathroom behind Celia and shutting the door.  
    Celia dutifully went to the monumental metal tub in the center of the room and turned the taps.  The water thundered as it hit the floor of the tub, and Celia considered that it wouldn’t be a such a bad idea to have a good soak in the warm water before getting into bed.    
    While Loki listened at the door for the servers to leave the room, Celia explored the bathroom.  Besides the tub, there was a row of sinks with mirrors, an armoire, and a water closet behind a sliding screen.  Celia was perhaps most relieved to see this, as peeing in the woods was not her best skill and she’d been half-expecting some crazy set-up with, like, three seashells or something.  She explored the armoire and found stacks of fluffy, herb-scented linens as well as a variety of little pots, jars, and cut crystal bottles.  She hoped with all her might that one of them contained toothpaste.  A series of drawers revealed half a dozen bars of soap -- some smelled like oatmeal, others of clover -- a few squishy sponges, a comb that appeared to be carved from a horn, and to her relief once more, several toothbrushes.  She grabbed one and headed to a sink.  
    Glancing at herself in the mirror, Celia smiled as she appraised her disheveled appearance.  Grime streaked down her face and her hair looked like a lion’s mane.  She removed her flower crown, somewhat wilted by now, and set it gently on the windowsill in the hope that it would dry and she could wear it again tomorrow.  “Loki,” she whispered, “where would I find something like toothpaste?”  
    He looked at her over his shoulder questioningly.    
    Celia held up the toothbrush.  “Something you use with this to clean your teeth?”  
    He held up one finger to indicate that she should wait and turned back to the door.  The servants were taking forever to set up the meal.  When they finally called, “Goodnight, sir!” and left the room, Loki went to the armoire and took from it a small jar with a little scoop affixed to its side.  He uncorked the lid, releasing a strong peppermint aroma, and scooped out a bit of fine white powder, which he sprinkled carefully on the brush and ran it under water at the sink.    
    “Thanks,” Celia smiled, taking the toothbrush from him.  She turned to brush her teeth as Loki turned off the water filling the tub, which was now almost full.  Celia watched in the mirror as he took a crystal decanter and poured some of its amber liquid into the bath.  The oil pooled at the surface of the water.  It smelled warm and spicy.  From another jar he sprinkled into the tub a handful of deep fuchsia flower petals.  Reaching into a third jar, Loki retrieved a round tablet the size of an orange and tossed it into the water.  It fizzed and bubbled as it dissolved, releasing a lovely, thick foam that reminded Celia of meringue.  He piled a towel, sponge, and bar of soap on a little table next to the tub.  
    Celia rinsed her mouth of the Asgardian toothpaste, which had not been so unlike what she was used to once it got going, and turned to watch Loki.  He had prepared the bath with the silent reverence of an important ritual, and she wasn’t sure whether it was meant for himself or for her until he said, “This will help you comb out your hair.”  He added the comb to the table, along with a glass phial fitted with a dropper and filled with oil.  “And use this for the wounds on your feet.”  He indicated a small pot of medicinal-smelling ointment.    
    They looked at each other for a long moment.  “I’ll leave you to it,” he bid her quietly, shutting the doors behind him as he left the room.  
    Celia unbuckled the strap that had been holding up her shirt, placed Mjøtuor in the center of her flower crown, and peeled off Sindri’s leather pants.  _How do you even wash leather pants?_ she wondered, turning them inside out and hanging them on a towel rack, hoping they would at least air out a bit.  Loki’s green shirt, she shimmied over her head and tossed into the tub.  _Might as well give that a rinse while I’m at it._   She then climbed into the bath and submerged herself beneath the foam, staying under until her lungs began to burn.    
    The hot water and fragrant oils soothed her aching body.  She luxuriated in it for a moment before lathering up the sponge with the bar of soap to scrub the dirt and sweat off her skin until it glowed pink, and then massaged some of the ointment into her blisters.  It tingled at first but then, thankfully, dulled the painful sting.  Already feeling a million times better, Celia liberally oiled the comb and began to pick through her tangled hair.  It took a while to smooth it out, and finally she washed it with some of the foam that lingered in the bath, anointed it with more oil as conditioner, and wound it into a knot at the top of her head.  She then went to work scouring the shirt with the suds and wrung it out as best she could without getting out of the bath.  She hung it over a rung in the little tub-side table and hoped it would dry by morning.        
    This second-wind soon died down, and Celia lay against the high back of the metal tub, dozing until the water began to cool.  She considered adding more hot water, but she figured that Loki was waiting for his turn and, anyway, she still hadn’t eaten.  It had been so long since she’d eaten that her stomach felt shrunken and she was simultaneously ravenous and totally nauseated by the idea of eating anything.  She wasn’t even sure she remembered how to do normal things like eat food and she just wanted to lay there and sleep and sleep.    
    But Loki had been very chivalrous to let her go first and to let her take such a long time.  Celia didn’t want to take advantage, so she forced herself to stand.  She shivered as she toweled off and wished for the familiarity and comfort of her bathrobe, which was probably still on the floor in Loki’s dressing room back at his palace.  
    She hunted around in the armoire for a robe but had to settle for a dry towel, which she wrapped around herself as she padded out into the room.  The low light of the crackling fire made the place seem cozy, and she was eager to cocoon herself somewhere plush and warm for the night.  “Sorry I took so long,” she apologized as she approached the circle of cushions.  
    Loki didn’t answer.  He was sprawled on the floor amidst the pillows, sound asleep.  His hand clutched a half-eaten apple, and an almost untouched plate of food sat on a tray behind him.  Usually so acerbic and imposing, in sleep he looked peaceful and delicate.  His normally clenched jaw was relaxed, his lips no longer pressed into a mocking line but sensuously parted.  With his eyes gently closed, the raptor-like gaze that usually hardened his countenance was smoothed away, and Celia noticed how long and thick his dark lashes were against his pale cheeks, as though they had been delicately painted onto porcelain.  
    Celia stared at Loki for a few moments until she felt oddly like she was imposing on an intimate moment.  He seemed so exposed, just laying there on the floor, so she went to the bed for a blanket to cover him.  He’d shed most of his formidable Asgardian outerwear, and lay clad in just leather trousers and a loose green shirt not unlike the one Celia had worn.  His shirt was untucked and rode up slightly around his waist, revealing a sliver of abdomen, the cutting lines of a pale hipbone curving into a lean, concave belly before disappearing under his clothes.  His elaborate tunic, long overcoat, boots, and odd accessories for which Celia had no name were strewn about the floor.    
    It was warm by the fire but Celia always slept more soundly when she had a blanket so she figured it would be the least she could do to tuck Loki in if he was going to sleep on the floor.  It was nice of him to always give her the bed, when there was one.  _He’s had so many chances to take advantage of me, or to be cruel, but instead he looks out for me_ , Celia mused.  _He can’t be all bad._   
    She dragged the enormous comforter across the room to the pile of cushions and paused.  Would it wake Loki if she just moved the apple?  Juice from the bites had run over his hand and down his arm, and it would make everything sticky.  He seemed to be sleeping very deeply.  Celia crouched over Loki and grasped the apple, but his fingers held tighter as she pulled it away.  She took his thumb to pry open his grip when she suddenly found herself shoved to the ground, hard.  Loki scrambled backward, clutching the apple to his chest.  His eyes were wide and unfocused, burning with both menace and fear.  
    “Loki!” Celia cried.  “It’s me, it’s just me, it’s okay.”  She got to her knees and held up her hands to put him at ease.  “It’s just me, Celia,” she repeated.  
    Loki’s chest heaved as he stared at her, recognition slowly coming over him as his eyes focused.  He looked at the apple and then up at her.  “Seelie?” he breathed.  
    “Yes, Seelie,” she confirmed, surprised to hear him use the nickname after he’d been so scornful of her invitation to use it.  
    Loki tossed the apple aside and lunged forward.  Before Celia could decide whether it would be wise to get out of his way, his arms were around her in a crushing embrace.  Tight against his bare chest, Celia could feel his heart pounding.  Loki buried his face into her damp hair, holding her to him as if his life depended on it, until his breathing slowed to normal.    
    Then, just as abruptly as he'd taken her into his arms, Loki released her and moved away awkwardly.  Celia didn’t know what to say or do, unsure if she should even move a muscle except to grasp at her towel that threatened to fall.  Loki wouldn’t look at her, saying in a low voice, “I apologize.  You startled me.”  
    “It’s okay.”  
    Without another word or glance in her direction, Loki lay back down in his nest of cushions and curled up with his back to her.  He flinched when Celia covered him with the blanket she had brought over for him.  “Sorry,” she whispered, and then retreated to the bed.  She didn’t feel like eating anything now.    
    Celia climbed into the vast sleigh bed and tried to get comfortable.  The silken sheets were chilly compared to the warm air near the fire.  She huddled in a ball and tried to find that delicious drowsy feeling she’d had in the bath, but it had been chased away by this odd encounter with Loki.  _PTSD?_ she wondered.  _Something awful must have happened to him._   
    Celia didn’t know or care what that something awful had been.  She only knew that awful things changed people.  You couldn’t stop it, you were powerless to hold onto the self you were before the awful things.  And she couldn’t blame Loki for not wanting to confide in her about it.  Somehow, talking about the awful things gave them power, reifying their place in the world.    
    After the accident, Celia had stuffed her life full of the distractions of work and hobbies because these things crowded out the loss, not just of her parents but of her former self.  The distractions filled the void left behind and blocked out the vision of the horrid, selfish person she would now always know herself to be and couldn’t face.  The heartless, spoiled girl whose last words to her mother were, “I hate you.”  The last version of herself that her parents had known was fixed forever in Celia’s mind as her true self.    
    A lot of therapy had convinced Celia of the abstract notion that this was not the case, that her guilt and her grief clouded her understanding of herself.  But in the cold, dark night as she shrank into the smallest possible form in an immense and strange bed, she knew only that awful things changed you and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.  Except maybe go back and stop the awful things, and that was exactly what she and Loki were going to try and do, wasn’t it?  
    And all at once, Celia felt so lonely.  She felt so lonely she thought her heart must have disintegrated.  It was such an empty, cold loneliness that she thought she would implode with the grief of it.  
    Quietly, she uncoiled herself and slid off the bed.  She tiptoed over to Loki in his pile of cushions and saw that, where before he’d lain open and relaxed, now he was curled on his side with his muscles tensed, his hands clenched into fists.  His breathing was shallow and the hard edge of his jaw jutted defiantly.  Celia felt guilty for disturbing him before, guiltier still that she may again, but she could not be alone in that big, cold bed another minute.  At home, she had her Xanax prescription for these overwhelming moments but here she had only Loki.  Whatever his motives, he’d protected her so far and right now Celia desperately wanted to feel safe.  And maybe, just for those few seconds he'd held her so tightly, she'd helped Loki feel safe, too.  Neither of them should sleep alone tonight.  
    Celia took a pillow and placed it close enough to Loki that she could hear his breathing and feel his presence, but not so close that they would touch.  She decided that there was enough warmth from the fire that it wasn’t worth frightening him out of sleep a second time to pull over some of the blanket he'd wrapped around himself.  Celia lay on her back, determined to stay as still as stone and to breathe as quietly as possible.  She closed her eyes and concentrated on seeming invisible.  
    Some time passed and Celia was drifting in that no-man’s-land between wakefulness and sleep when she heard Loki stir.  She froze in a pang of guilt, hoping he was only shifting in his sleep.  She felt him touch her hand gingerly, and then her bare shoulder, and then he smoothed a strand of hair from across her collarbone.  Celia turned her head to look at Loki and he reached for her, entwining his long fingers into her hair, pulling her close to him so that she lay with her head cradled against his shoulder, her body pressed against the length of his, their legs interlaced.  Soon they both relaxed, warm and secure in one another’s arms, and melted into sleep together.

* * *

  
  
    When Loki awoke, light was seeping into the room from under the drapes and the fire had burned down to embers.  Celia was still nestled against him, sound asleep.  He wondered what she’d say about all this when she woke, but he hoped that wouldn’t be for a little while yet.  Despite the numbness that had set into one arm and the painful cramp in his hand from his fingers still tightly wound into Celia’s hair, Loki didn’t want to move.  He wanted to lay right where he was.  At some point in the night, Celia had slipped her hand under his shirt and it felt so warm and comforting on his chest.    
    This was nice.  He was going to enjoy it while it lasted, because he was certain that Celia would see him as little more than a monster once she learned of his recent past.  Once she knew, she’d never put her hands on him again.  And she _would_ know it, soon enough.  Loki wasn’t sure how he was going to manage to find Urðr, steal the Time Gem, _and_ avoid having anyone they encountered along the way reveal his crimes to the young Midgardian woman whom, oh, yes, he had kidnapped after illegally interdimensionally transporting.  He only hoped that Celia would have already given him the locket before she found everything out.  Because he could never tell her what _really_ happened.  The horror of it rendered Loki mute, unable to prolong the violation by inflicting on his body the speaking of words that could express what had happened.  Loki hadn’t been able to bring himself to force his own tongue, his very breath, to make it real by saying it out loud.  Not to anyone.  And so, everyone believed what they believed without Loki’s side of the story.  And that was fine.  It was mostly better that way.  
    The more he considered things, the more Loki was convinced that it was only a matter of very short time before Celia despised him, so he may as well cut himself off from whatever this budding euphoria was before it would be too painful to lose.    
    Celia gave a little sigh and shifted around a bit, her hand pressing into Loki’s skin and then relaxing again.  She didn’t wake.  She looked so content.  
    Maybe it was already too painful.  
     _You are a fool_ , Loki berated himself.  This was a stolen moment, it was not his to linger in.  He had more important things to concentrate on stealing just now.  _More important things_ , he emphasized, aggrieved.  He stretched his fingers and began gently working them out of Celia’s hair, then wriggled himself free from their embrace and quietly slipped into the bathroom.  He didn’t check to see if his movement had disturbed her awake.        
    The white tile of the bathroom was brightly lit by the sun streaming through the thin curtain.  Loki couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.  He was afraid that it would be written all over his face, how good it had felt to just lay there with her and sleep peacefully, entwined together as though they were made to be.  Instead he ran a bath, concocting the same foamy, fragrant cocktail he had for Celia the night before, and plunged into the scalding water in the hope that it would burn this foolishness away.  
    The flower crown and the locket were still on the windowsill.  _How trusting_.  This was what he found so disarming about Celia.  She didn’t consider his good moments just bided time until he did something horrible.  _Even though, you are just biding your time_ , Loki reminded himself.  _Once you have Mjøtuor,_ he argued with himself, _you can do anything you want.  You can have a dozen women to stroke your ego and make you feel better than you know yourself to be.  What is one Midgardian girl to you?_  
    He decided not to linger overmuch on the answer to that question.  
    Instead, Loki found himself thinking of Thor and Jane Foster.  “What are you doing?” Loki had demanded incredulously when Thor smashed the Bifrost to prevent Loki from using it to destroy Jotunheim.  “If you destroy the Bridge you’ll never see her again!”  Loki had used Jane Foster to taunt and threaten his brother that night, and he felt a flash of long overdue guilt for it.  He had never really considered the depth of the sacrifice Thor had made, because it had never occurred to Loki that Jane Foster would have really meant all that much to his brother.  She was just some woman from Midgard.  _Gone in the blink of an eye, really._    
     _Oh._ The realization struck Loki like a slap in the face.    
    No, he could not have this.  He would play the part he needed to ensure Celia gave him the locket, nothing more.  And then she would have to go.  It would mean nothing to him.  _Nothing._   Loki was the god of chaos, but this felt like it would spiral catastrophically out of his control if he let it go on.  It would be a thing that changed him, and there would be nothing he could do about it.  _Leave it_ , he roughly commanded himself.  Leaning over the edge of the tub to the windowsill, he snatched Celia’s flower crown, pulled it to pieces, and threw them to the cold floor.  
  



	10. The Market of Asgard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which flower crowns are very meaningful.

* * *

 

A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer.

-Seneca, Moral Essays, Volume III: de Beneficiis, 1st century CE

 

    “Loki?”  He heard Celia’s plaintive cry, sleepy and disoriented, drift in from the room.  
    Loki sunk beneath the bathwater, willing himself to ignore her.  
    But he couldn’t hold his breath forever.    
    The door opened a crack and Celia called through it, “Loki, are you there?”  She peered around the door just as his head emerged from the foam.  “Oh, sorry!” she exclaimed.  
    A curious self-consciousness came over Loki and he slid down in the tub to conceal his naked torso under the blanket of bubbles.  “Yes?  What is it?”  He really hoped she was not here to talk about last night.  He just wanted to forget about it.  
    Celia came into the bathroom now, politely averting her eyes even though Loki was hidden from the neck down.  “Um...  Nothing,” she said, as self-conscious as he was.  “I just need the comb.  _Somehow_ my hair got all tangled last night.”  
    Having spent the night with his fingers wound through Celia’s damp hair, Loki had woven a prodigious snarl into it.  He watched as she took the comb and phial of oil from the armoire and went to the mirror.  She struggled with various angles for several minutes, but Celia couldn’t get a good enough view of the back of her head to make much progress.  She dropped the comb on the countertop and huffed in frustration.    
    “Oh, let me do it,” Loki grumbled, sitting up and holding out his hand for the comb.  Celia smiled shyly and relinquished the comb, kneeling before the tub so Loki could reach across the side and comb her hair.  Neither of them brought up the details of how it came to be tangled in the first place.    
    “So,” Celia said, “what’s the plan?  Are we going to see Urðr, or what?”  
    Loki didn’t answer right away, concentrating instead on not pulling Celia's hair too hard as he combed through a particularly knotted section.  “Yes,” he said, slowly.  “But there are some items we require before we go.”  
    “Like what?”  
    “Gifts for the Norns.”  
    “What kind of gifts?” she pressed.  
    “Oh, enticing little trinkets.  I’m not really sure.  I told you before, no one has spoken to the Norns in a very long time.  I only know what I’ve read.  In the stories, they always bring the sisters gifts.”  
    “ _Ouch!_ ” Celia yelped as Loki yanked out a few strands of her hair.  
    He didn’t apologize.  
    “Oh, no!  What happened to my flower crown?” Celia asked, noticing the pieces of it strewn around.  She picked up a few crushed blossoms from the floor.  
    “I don’t know.  It must have fallen,” Loki answered in an exasperated tone, as if it were the stupidest question he’d ever heard.  
    “I really wanted to wear it again.”  Her small voice was tinged with disappointment.  
    A tiny sliver of penitence lodged itself in Loki’s chest.  Hoping to change the subject, he asked, “How are your feet?”  
    “Oh!”  Celia inspected her blisters, which looked much better than they had last night.  “I should probably put more ointment on them.  That stuff is great.  But can we pick up some thick socks somewhere?  Sindri’s shoes are a little too big.”  
    “If you wish,” Loki agreed, working through the last of the snarl.  He reached over Celia’s shoulder to hand her the comb.    
    She turned but didn’t take it.  Instead, she looked him in the eye and whispered, “Thanks, Loki.”  
    He looked away, ostensibly to place the comb on the table by the tub.  “Have some breakfast.  Someone once told me that it’s the most important meal of the day.”  
    Celia tucked the bruised flower she held behind Loki’s ear and grinned.  “That person sounds very smart.”  


* * *

  
    After they had both washed and dressed and had something to eat from the lukewarm spread they’d barely touched the night before, Celia and Loki were almost ready to leave.  Celia was a little sad to go; the lavish room made her feel as though she were on an indulgent vacation in some exotic locale.  Which, in a way, she kind of was.  Except outside of these walls, people -- space-drones, whatever -- wanted to harm her.  In here, this place was like The Ritz Carlton Asgard, and as much as she wanted to speak to Urðr, she wouldn’t have minded dragging out this interlude with more room service and long, perfumed baths and naps by the fire.  
    Plus, it was agonizing to shove her blistered feet back into the too-big boots this morning.  Celia winced as she laced them.  
    While Celia’s attention was on her boots, Loki swept the rooms for any useful or left-behind items.  In the bathroom, he pocketed the little pot of ointment that would help heal Celia’s blisters.  Even if she got some socks, she’d need it later.  He crossed to the door, trampling the remains of her flower crown.  The little faded flower Celia had adorned him with in the bath was still on the tub-side table, where he’d tossed it scornfully after she had left the room.  Yesterday its petals had been creamy and white with streaks of sunny yellow at its heart.  Today it was a little faded, a little browned, but still sturdy and whole.  On an impulse, Loki surreptitiously tucked it into his sleeve.  
    “What are you doing?” asked Celia, leaning against the doorframe.  
    Loki startled.  “Uh...  Do you have the locket?”  
    Celia patted Mjøtuor where it hung from her strap.  
    “Then, we should go,” he said, slipping back into his palace guard disguise.  Celia felt a shiver and knew that she once again wore Sindri’s appearance.  Unfortunately, her blisters still smarted, and she tried not to limp as they made their way down the stairs.  
    Loki left the key to the room on the counter in the foyer and they stepped out into the bright morning.  The street at the end of the gravel path was bustling.  Loki bent, feinting an adjustment to his boot, and scooped handfuls of gravel into his pockets.  Celia tried not to think about how angry the innkeeper would be when he opened that velvet pouch again and noticed that his hack-silver had turned to pebbles.    
    Celia bent and took a pebble for her own pocket, not to disguise as currency, just because she thought they were pretty.  It would be a souvenir of the past twelve hours, whatever those hours had meant.  With the exception of Jenny, who had been her best friend since the sixth grade and who had refused to let Celia distance herself after the accident, Celia was fine with keeping relationships shallow and undefined by much talking over of feelings.  If Loki wanted to pretend it never happened, she wasn’t all that eager to bring it up, either.  But she also never wanted to forget it, when this crazy adventure was said and done.    
     _Jenny..._   Celia mused.  _I wonder if she’s called in the National Guard yet.  I’ve been gone for like three days.  I wonder if they fired me at the auction house._  
    Celia had a difficult time keeping up with Loki as they wove through the busy streets.  In the bright light of day, Asgard shone like the entire city was wrought of gold.  Many buildings had beautiful, ornate carvings and sculptural elements in their facades.  Celia was doing a poor job of balancing craning her neck to take in the majestic architecture with avoiding being run over by people in the street, and once she even thought she’d lost track of Loki.  Panic jolted through her then, until she remembered that she was looking for someone who didn’t look like Loki.    
    It helped, actually, that he didn’t look like himself just now.  She feared that if she looked at his hands, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from retreating back into the memory of them holding her.  Last night had been the soundest, most peaceful sleep Celia had experienced in a while.  It had been more restorative than the kind of sleep she brought on by her sleeping or anxiety pills.  She thumbed the pebble in her pocket like a worry-stone.      
    But Celia was soon distracted again as the market of Asgard rose before her.  It occupied a long hill that led up toward the palace.  In the center of the road and along the sidewalks vendors had set up colorful tents and stands, while more permanent stores occupying the buildings that flanked the road threw open their doors to the bustling market.  She saw places to buy food, weaponry, armor, soaps and oils, flowers and herbs, all manner of clothing and textiles, jewelry, leatherwork, glassware, gorgeous metal objects that glinted in the sun.  The sights and sounds were overwhelming.  
    “Stay close,” warned Loki.  
    Celia didn’t see that she had much choice.  As they entered the market, the throng of people ebbed and flowed like a tide, pushing her close to Loki so she could hold onto the edge of his palace guard cape without it being too conspicuous.  
    “So, what are we looking for?” Celia asked.  
    “I’m not entirely sure,” Loki admitted.  “Tell me if something catches your eye.”  
    They passed a dairy vendor and an herbalist and a metalsmith.  Here, Celia paused, tugging Loki’s cape to indicate that he should also.  The metalsmith’s booth was stocked mostly with armor, but there was a small table at the front laid out with the most delicately wrought vanity items and jewelry Celia had ever seen.  There were a few cuff bracelets that looked like strands of gossamer had been dipped in silver and set with gemstones so tiny and clear they glittered like dew.  “These are pretty enticing,” Celia remarked, pointing one out to Loki.  “Do you think the Norns would want something like this?”  
    The metalsmith approached them.  “Shopping for a gift?” he guessed.    
    “Just browsing,” Loki replied, nonchalant.  
    “My son makes these,” the metalsmith informed them, a little proudly.  “He’s still just an apprentice but look at how fine his work is.  I have him engraving the ceremonial armor and his pieces have been very popular at the palace, if you’re ever in the market for something like that.  I’ve sold pieces to Fandral the Dashing, himself, of the Warriors Three!”  The vendor seemed to be trying to up-sell Loki with this bit of boasting.    
    Celia inspected a dainty comb and mirror set that were embellished with gorgeous etched designs while Loki expertly negotiated down the price for a bracelet, convincing the man that, although his son’s work was very fine, an apprentice-made bracelet didn’t warrant full price.  Celia thought this was a little mean.  The hack-silver pieces Loki paid the metalsmith were just magicked pebbles, anyway.  But the man seemed satisfied with the weight of the portion Loki gave him, dropped his counterfeit hack-silver into a lockbox and wrapped the bracelet in a piece of felt.  
    They wandered to a less crowded section of the market now, where a series of textile vendors set up stalls outside of a tailor shop.  Racks of silk shawls fluttered in the breeze, like oversized butterfly wings.  Celia stopped Loki again.  “What about those?”  
    Loki gestured for her to select one.  She chose a white, raw silk shawl with a buttery yellow design of ink-painted flowers that reminded Loki of the flower secreted away in his sleeve.  “Not that one,” he said.  
    “These are hand painted,” a young shopgirl informed them as she approached.    
    “We’ll have this one,” Loki told her, pointing out a deep green scarf with gold pine trees painted on it in silhouette.  “Evergreens,” he said to Celia quietly, as the woman wrapped his selection in paper.  “They’ll like that, I think.”  
    “It’s nice,” Celia agreed, trying not to laugh at how seriously Loki was taking choosing these elegant accessories.  She wanted to laugh but it also kind of worried her.  Were the Norns so fickle that you had to ply them with pretty baubles?  What kind of secrets of the universe could they possibly hold if they were so easily bribed?  What if the Norns didn’t like the gifts and wouldn’t help her?  
    In the textile row of the market, they also found a shop that sold yarn and wool goods.  Loki gave Celia a few bits of hack-silver and she found a pair of thick socks, which she was grateful to put on right away.     
    “How many more gifts do we need?” Celia asked as she tied the boots back on her feet.  
    “Just one more,” Loki said.    
    They wandered up the hill, not particularly taken with any of the wares they passed until Celia noticed a glassmaker.  There were all different shaped and colored drinking goblets in the display by the entrance of the stall, throwing rainbows into the road as they caught the light.  Further back, there were lovely glass bottles and decanters with impossibly thin necks and stoppers twisted into delightful shapes.  But what enticed Celia most, way at the back, was the display of glass flowers, some arranged in vases, others woven into circlets with wire and ribbon and hanging from pegs along the wall.  
    These flowers delighted Celia.  They reminded her of one of her favorite books, _Stardust_ by Neil Gaiman, and the magical glass flowers at the Faerie Market in the story.    
    “Ooh,” she breathed, picking from a vase a stalk of glass bearberry, with tiny pastel purple, bell-shaped buds tinkling among broad green leaves of velvet.  “Look how sweet these are!”    
    Celia’s eyes lit up with excitement when she noticed the circlets on the wall, her gaze lingering longingly on one with soft blue forget-me-nots and translucent white snowdrops, woven together with gold wire and set off with dusty gold leaves and trailing gold and blue ribbons.  
    Loki approached, his eyes following hers to the circlet before he took the stalk of bearberry from her.  “This will do very nicely,” he said, twirling it in his fingers.  “Bearberry is a kind of evergreen.”    
    His eyes flicked up again to the circlet.  He reached into his pocket and handed Celia the jar of ointment.  “You ought to tend your wounds,” he suggested.  “We’ve been walking quite a lot and we have far to go, yet.  I’ll see to things here.”  
    Celia took the ointment and reluctantly tore herself away from the glass flower display.  She went out to a bench across the road from the glassware vendor and began unlacing her boots.  The socks definitely helped but her blisters still ached and she was grateful Loki had thought to bring the ointment.  
    When he met her at the bench, Loki was carrying a rather larger and more bulky package than she would have expected for the stalk of bearberry, but she figured the vendor had wrapped it up in lots of layers to prevent the fragile blossoms from being crushed.    
    “Should we get some lunch before we leave the market?” asked Celia.  
    “The incidence of meals is of great concern to you, I have noticed,” Loki teased.  
    “Well, given our track record, I figure I should get them where I can!”  
    At the top of the market was a sort of food court, a circle of stands selling street food surrounding several rows of long tables and benches.  Loki settled Celia at the end of a table and went to get them something to eat.  Everyone around her was buzzing about the recent Chitauri attack and whether it was safe for the realm to have such a cache of powerful weapons and magical artifacts stored in the palace.  Celia thought she heard Loki’s name mentioned a few times, but it was difficult to eavesdrop with so many conversations going on around her at once.  She strained to listen, hoping to catch bits and pieces that might suggest what had caused Loki to be incarcerated back at the fortress, when he returned with two paper cones each containing some fried balls of dough that reminded Celia of hush puppies, and kebabs of grilled meat.  
    “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up both our disguises much longer,” he confided to her.  
    Celia raised her eyebrows in concern.  “People are talking about you,” she warned.  
    “I’ll focus on my appearance until we get to the Yggdrasil,” he said.  
    “I don’t know why you bothered with mine, anyway,” Celia replied.  “It’s not like anyone knows who I am here.”  
    “You don’t look right,” Loki told her.  
    “Wow, thanks.”  
    “No,” Loki said quickly.  “You look...very well.  I mean...”  He glanced around, annoyed that he was stumbling over his words.  “I mean to say, you just don’t look like you belong here.  With me.  It looks suspicious.”  
    “I can walk five steps behind you,” she offered.    
    The idea of being more than an arm’s length away from Loki made Celia uneasy, but she didn’t want him running down his strength.  Loki wasn’t entirely thrilled with the prospect either, but he reluctantly agreed that it was the best option they had.  


* * *

  
    When they were finished eating, they collected their parcels and left the market.  They walked until they found a relatively abandoned alley.  Casually sauntering into the narrow backstreet, Loki leaned against a wall to block Celia from the main road.  In a flash, Sindri’s appearance fell away from her, and she looked like herself again.    
    The body that shielded her from the street wasn’t shaped like Loki’s, wasn’t the shoulder where she’d rested her head nor the arms that had embraced her in the night.  The chest wasn’t the same one where she’d spread her hand and been lulled to sleep by the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat in synch with her own.  But he was standing close enough that she could feel that familiar heartbeat inside the unfamiliar chest.  When she looked up into the stranger’s face, Loki’s eyes looked back at her, and she read in them the same longing she had seen last night when he woke from his nightmare and realized she was there.    
    Celia turned away and said quickly, “You go out first.”  
    “Wait.”  Loki unwrapped the package from the glass vendor.  He held up the forget-me-not flower crown that had captivated Celia.  She wasn’t usually one to find herself at a loss for words, but she gaped in silence as Loki tied it around her head.  Then it occurred to her that she wanted to thank him, but when she opened her mouth to speak she simply blurted out, “Why?”  
    He offered no explanation except to look at her briefly and say, “It matches your eyes.”  Then he turned and walked out of the alley.  Celia, still a little dumbstruck, waited five paces and followed.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you in the comments.


	11. The World Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Loki actually follows through on a promise.

* * *

It’s not hard to own something. Or everything.

You just have to know that it’s yours, and then be willing to let it go.

-Neil Gaiman, _Stardust_ , 1999

 

    By late afternoon, Loki and Celia had skirted the edge of the palace and were moving through a less populated part of Asgard.  Here, the coppery metal and polished stone architecture didn’t shine as brightly as it had around the city center.  The facades were dingy, tarnished and crumbling in places, their carvings worn by time and weather.  Before long, Loki and Celia were the only two out on the streets.    
    Loki turned them down a road that was rutted and cracked.  It stretched out past the last few buildings to dead-end in a wide field.  Beyond the overgrown field, the Sea of Space thundered over the cliffside.  This dilapidated margin of the city was entirely deserted, like long-forgotten ancient ruins.  There were no signs of life.    
    Celia could understand why.  The air here was dense in a way that made her feel anxious.  It was heavy with what seemed like millions of whispers, just barely audible but not clear enough to pinpoint.  Certainly no one could live here without going mad from the tense atmosphere.  It felt haunted, burdened.    
    Loki stopped at the edge of the street and dropped his disguise.  He looked worn out as he beckoned for Celia to join him.  “The Yggdrasil is there.”  He pointed to a primordial tree that stood alone in the field.    
    Celia could not believe her eyes.  The tree’s branches twisted around themselves like Viking knotwork, weaving intricate patterns as they came together to form the thick trunk.  Surges of pale blue light shot through each vein from the tips of the branches, winding down through the trunk, and then disappearing into the earth.  The tree teemed with the flashes, as if it were alive, like the synapses in a nerve system.    
    “What...what is it?” Celia asked softly.    
    “Yggdrasil is the World Tree,” Loki said.  
    “But, Ragnkil said the Norns live at the base of it,” Celia protested.  She looked around, throwing her hands up in frustration.  “How can that be?  Where exactly would they live?”    
    “I don’t know,” Loki replied.  “I told you, no one has spoken to them in thousands of years.  Maybe they’ve moved on.  Maybe they never were here.  There are only stories now.”   
    “What do the stories say, exactly?”  
    Loki thought for a moment as he looked around, as if trying to reconcile the place with the stories he knew about the Norns.  “That there is a portal or gateway of some kind, and you must knock three times and present your gifts.  That the Norns are not always willing to speak with those who seek their counsel and they often speak in riddles when they do.”  
    Celia looked around for something that could be a gateway, her hopeful expression falling as she took in the emptiness of the place.  There didn’t seem to be anything like a gateway near the solitary tree.  She couldn’t even discern an opening of any kind in the decaying buildings back along the road.  It was evident that no one had lived here in a very long time, if indeed they ever did.  Maybe Loki was right.  But Celia had to be sure.  She walked past Loki and stepped off the road, into the field.  The ground vibrated like a tuning fork beneath her footfall.    
    Loki grabbed her arm.  “Where are you going?”  
    “I’m just going to check out the tree,” Celia said, but she didn’t pull her arm away.  Her pulse raced at Loki’s touch.  Or, she was just agitated by the energy in the air.  Celia decided it was the latter, but she leaned into Loki slightly as she said, “Maybe there’s a gateway on the other side?”   
    There were very few rules of the universe Loki was unwilling to bend at least a little, but the Yggdrasil was a profound and sacred thing.  Even he, with all his knowledge of the secret places and portals of Asgard, had never been this close to it.  None in Asgard ever intruded on the Yggdrasil, and now in its presence Loki well understood why.  The heady aura of the tree emanated a dangerously powerful force such as he had never encountered before, not even from the Tesseract.    
    “Seelie -- Celia,” Loki corrected himself, shaking his head.  “I don’t think we should go nearer the Yggdrasil.”  
    “Why not?” she demanded.   
     Loki opened his mouth to answer, and then thought better of it and pressed his lips into a tight line.  There wasn’t any point in wasting energy making up a lie for her.  She’d argue the point anyway.  “I don’t know what will happen,” he admitted after a few moments.  
    “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Celia said, just as Loki had expected.  But her tone was tinny with false bravado and she still made no attempt to release her arm from his grasp.    
    “I can help you to use the locket,” Loki insisted.  “We don’t need to find Urðr.”  
    “But you really don’t know for sure,” Celia argued.  
    “No,” he agreed.  “Nor can I be certain that no harm will befall you if you approach the Yggdrasil.”    
    “Then why did you go through so much trouble to bring me here?  We picked out the gifts and everything.  What was all that for, if you didn’t think we could find them?  You just figured that I’d get scared once we got here and that I’d give up?”  
    “Due diligence,” he replied, using her own phrase from the day before.  “And we’ve done that.  We journeyed all this way, we came prepared with gifts.  If the gateway had been evident, we would have knocked.  You can rest easy in your conscience, you’ve made every effort.  You have been very brave.  But you can see that there are none who dwell here, not even the Norns.”  
    Celia was far too stubborn to be so easily deterred.  “No, I can’t see.  We’ve barely looked.  If they lived out in the open, everyone would talk to them.”  
    “If we cannot find them --” Loki began.  
    “Then, yes, I will still give you Mjøtuor,” Celia interrupted, a little annoyed with him now.  “After you help me take care of one thing.”  She jerked her arm free from his grip.  “I said that I would give it to you, and I will.”  
    Loki grabbed her arm again, pulling her back onto the road so abruptly she stumbled into him.  “I can help you now,” he insisted.     
    Celia had half a mind to punch Loki in the crotch for thinking he could manhandle her like this, but she got the sense that his apprehension was less about trying to bully the locket from her and more about being frightened for her to step into this unknown territory, so she refrained.    
    “I know you could help me now.  But let’s just try to find Urðr first and see if we can get, like, an instruction manual from her, or a rule book or...I don't know, a fortune cookie.  _Something_.  This isn’t just a flashy green magic trick we’re dealing with, Loki, this is _time_.  Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time,” she quoted to him gravely.  
    “Who told you that?”   
    “Hermione Granger.”  
    “And Hermione Granger is...?”    
    “The cleverest witch of our age.”  If they stayed in touch after all this, Celia resolved to somehow send Loki a box of Earth’s finest popular books and movies.  As far as she was concerned, it was a crime for anyone in any of the Nine Realms to be so woefully unfamiliar with Harry Potter.  Plus, if he didn’t catch up on all her pop culture references, he’d never be able to laugh at any of her jokes.  
    Indeed, Loki looked genuinely concerned.  “When did you speak to a witch about manipulating time?”  
    Celia stifled a smile.  “Forget it.  Let’s go.”    
    She wriggled her arm but Loki still did not let her go.  Instead, he loosened his grip and let it slide down to her wrist.  Celia sort of hoped he would hold on as she began walking slowly toward the tree, so she interlaced her fingers with his.  Loki followed her reluctantly, clutching her hand, ready to pull her back at any moment.    
    The reverberation under each step was unnerving, like the ground was responding to their presence.  The whispering grew more intense as they approached the tree.  It was still undecipherable, but it was so fervent that Celia had to fight her instincts, which cried out for her to turn and run from this place.  She glanced at Loki, who looked similarly unnerved.  They paused a few feet from the tree, and Celia held tighter to Loki’s hand.  
    At this closer distance, they could see delicate zoomorphic forms detailed within the complex interwoven branches and veins of the tree.  Two slender deer outlined in the trunk were mirror images of one another, their necks reaching up as if to touch their snouts to the twisting branches above.*  The space between them delineated the shape of a keyhole, almost as tall and wide as Celia.  Impulsively, she reached out and put her hand to the center of the keyhole space, slipping her forearm between the weave of the branches that filled it.  
    A voice whispered her name so clearly Celia thought perhaps it had been Loki, and a blinding blue light flashed before her eyes.  
    In the very next instant, she was lying back on the road and Loki was hovering over her with a worried expression creasing his face.  He cradled Celia’s head in one hand and with the other, massaged her arm.  Celia wished he would stop because, for some reason she couldn’t recall, her skin tingled painfully and her shoulder throbbed.    
    “What happened?” she asked unsteadily, struggling to sit up.  She was oddly relieved to see that her shirtsleeve was torn and her arm was covered in scratches and cuts.  At least it explained the pain.  Celia couldn’t remember anything after the blue light.    
    Loki applied the last of the ointment in the little jar to her arm, then he eased Celia into a sitting position and appraised her anxiously.  “When you touched the Yggdrasil, its branches began to move,” he explained.  “They twisted around you.  The World Tree tried to pull you inside.  Are you alright?”  
    “I heard my name,” Celia said.  
    “I was calling your name,” Loki confirmed.  “But you were in some sort of trance.  You did not respond.”  
    “No,” Celia shook her head.  “I heard someone whisper my name.  And there was a flash of light.  And then,” she looked around, “I was here.”  
    “I freed you from the branches and brought you here.  And now,” Loki said, helping Celia to her feet, “we’re going.  You’ve nearly sacrificed yourself to the Yggdrasil, I think you have proven to your witch Hermione Granger sufficient due diligence in finding Urðr.  The Norns aren’t here.”  
    “Maybe they’re inside the tree, somehow,” Celia mused, brushing herself off and taking inventory.  She checked her pocket for the pebble and touched Mjøtuor at her chest and swept back her hair -- where there was no glass flower circlet.   
    “Loki!  My flower crown!”    
    “I’ll get you a new one,” Loki promised, leading her away from the field.  
    “No, wait, maybe it just fell in the grass,” Celia insisted, struggling to turn back.  
    Loki held fast to her waist and sighed.  “I’ll give you all the flower crowns in the market, Celia.  We’re going now.”  
    “But,” Celia said quietly, dejected as she stopped fighting him.  “I really liked _that one_.  The one you gave me.  It matches my eyes...”  She realized she sounded like a sentimental child but she couldn’t hide her disappointment.  
    Loki let go of her and looked to the tree.  He tried to summon the circlet to his hands, but he couldn’t make it appear.  This place refused to yield to his magic.  “It must have been taken by the Yggdrasil,” he guessed.    
    Celia put her hands in her pockets and nodded.  “I guess this was a bad idea.”  
    Loki was surprised at how her sorrowful resignation bothered him.  It was an odd sort of power he hadn’t ever given much consideration, that such a small thing as a glass flower circlet could mean so much more simply because he had given it, although some part of him must have realized this because he had spent all afternoon mentally berating himself for giving it to her.  The rapt and delighted expression on Celia’s face when he unwrapped the crown in the alley seemed like a reckless thing for him to indulge in.  A tantalizing form of magic of which he had only the vaguest understanding.     
    And so, against his better judgment, Loki waved his hand over Celia’s head with a small flash of green light.  Startled, her hands flew up to touch a forget-me-not flower crown.  She began to smile but stopped when she realized what he’d done.    
    “It isn’t real, is it?” she asked.  “It’s just an illusion?”  
    “Yes,” Loki said with a sigh, “but I gave it to you.  Apparently that fulfills some criteria you have for flower crowns.”  
    Celia considered this for a moment, and her smile returned shyly.  She took a tentative step towards Loki, and when he didn’t retreat, she walked straight into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, nestling her cheek against his chest.  He stood rigidly with his arms at his sides as she looked up into his face.  “Loki,” she said, “would you be this nice to me if you didn’t want something from me?”  
     _Let her ask me anything but this_ , he begged silently.  Loki wasn’t really sure, himself, any more, and he didn’t want to think about it.  He put his arms around Celia to fidget with her hair, absently twirling it around his fingers, and volleyed the question back to her.  “Would you?”  
    Celia laughed.  “No, not at all.  I’m totally just using you for your magic.  Once you help me with the locket, I’ll probably pepper spray you in the face some more.”  
    Loki smiled, grateful she had deflected her own difficult query.  “May we leave now?”  
    “I guess so,” she agreed, reluctantly breaking their embrace and turning to go.  
    It was then Celia noticed a carving on the side of the last building on the left.  It was faint but just discernible in the fading afternoon light, which threw the carving into deep shadow and relief.  It looked very much like the twin deer that flanked the keyhole shape in the tree.  
    “Loki,” Celia said, pointing to the building.  “Was that there before?”  
    He looked at it, skeptical.  “I didn’t notice,” he said.  
    “I’m sure it wasn’t,” Celia insisted, approaching the carving.  
    “Celia, no.”  
    “I won’t touch it,” she promised.  Loki followed her to the building, ready to pull her away if she did anything foolish.    
    Although the carving was shallow, it didn’t have the same rounded, weathered edges as the faded vestiges of ancient carvings in other parts of the buildings.  Up close, they could see that its etched lines quivered slightly with a blue glow.  
    Celia looked back at the Yggdrasil, and slowly a realization dawned on her.  “What if you have it backwards?  What if you give the gifts first, and then knock on the gateway?”  
    Loki immediately understood what she was suggesting.  “You think that the Yggdrasil took your crown as a gift and so the portal made itself known?”  
    Celia shrugged.  “Why not?”    
    “I suppose it is possible.”  While Loki was busy scrutinizing the interwoven lines, Celia rapped three times on the stone keyhole shape between the deer.  
    “You said you wouldn’t touch it!” Loki cried, unable to hide his exasperation.  He dragged Celia away from the wall and put himself in front of her.  
    “I lied.”  Celia peered out from behind Loki and they both stared at the carving, but nothing seemed to happen.  
    “I guess we still have two gifts to go,” Celia observed, eyeing the tree warily and heaving a determined sigh.  She massaged her shoulder.  It felt like she’d pulled a muscle or something.  
    “You don’t have to do this, Celia,” Loki told her again.  “I can help you.”  
    “It isn’t just about Mjøtuor though, Loki.  I want to ask Urðr about my mother, or my grandmother, or, I don’t know, whoever gave them this locket in the first place.  You don’t understand, it’s like one day you just showed up and suddenly I’m not who I thought I was.  My family isn’t who I thought they were.  I need to know the truth.”  
    “I do understand,” Loki said, staring at his hands.    
    “Then let me do this.”  
    Loki extracted two of the small parcels from his pockets.  “Wait here,” he told Celia.  “I’ll do it.”  
    Now it was Celia’s turn to grab Loki’s arm in an attempt to hold him back from the World Tree.  “Loki, no,” her voice was urgent.  “If it grabs you, I’m not strong enough to help you free.”  
    He did not pull his arm from her grasp, but leaned into her slightly.  “I’ll be alright,” he said, and then stepped off the road.  
    “How do you know that?” she called after him, leaning forward to maintain her hold on his arm.  
    Loki paused and looked at her over his shoulder.  “Trust me.”  
    They stared at one another for a moment, until Celia nodded and let him go.  Loki turned back to the tree, approaching it cautiously.  He unwrapped the shawl, the paper whipping away over the cliff in the wind.  The shawl fluttered in his outstretched hand.  Here, the whispering was intense, pounding his brain like the waves against the cliffside below until he wanted to scream just to drown them out.  Loki forced himself to inch closer and reached for the keyhole.    
    Something whispered his name as he hooked the shawl around a bent branch, but Loki was careful not to touch the tree nor let it touch him.  He was able to step back just as the branches surged forward to claim the shawl.  They encircled the silk until it disappeared behind the keyhole.    
     Loki appeared more or less unharmed but he suddenly felt overcome by dizziness and sank awkwardly to his knees, the ground beneath him reeling.  
    “Loki!” cried Celia, running from the safety of the road to where he knelt.  He felt the vibrations of her steps rattle his knees.  
    Loki put an arm out to stop her.  “I’m fine,” he insisted.  
    She wanted to embrace him, to put her hands on him and ascertain for herself that he was fine, to insist on doing this herself.  But Loki still wore the look in his  
eyes when he’d asked her to trust him, and she knew she needed to let him do this, so she settled for helping him to his feet.  
    “Go back to the carving,” Loki said.  “See if it changed with the second gift.”  
    Celia could see as she approached the carving that it had deepened, the blue light intensified.  It pulsed through the lines like the flashes that ran through the tree.  They had to be on the right track.  
    “I think it’s working,” she called to Loki.  “Try the last one.”  
    He took the glass bearberry stalk and carefully poked it through the branches.  The whispering voice was louder this time but Loki was prepared for it and shook off the lull it tried to impose on his mind.  He made it back to the road this time before falling to his knees.  
    The carving glowed steadily with the blue light now.  Celia stepped forward and knocked on the keyhole shape three times.  The light intensified, glowing so bright that it became impossible to make out the lines of the carving.  Loki pulled Celia back to the other side of the road, shielding their eyes, but it didn’t seem to be the same sort of bright flash that had put Celia into a trance when she touched the tree.  It blazed and then it was gone.  
    So was the carving.  
    “What?” Celia cried, angrily.  “Where is it?  What happened?”  She glared at Loki, outraged at this anticlimax.  
    “I...I don’t know,” Loki stammered, looking around.  “Perhaps they were displeased with the gifts.”  
    “Displeased with the gifts?  _They stole my flower crown!_ ” Celia shouted to the empty field.  “ _I’ll show them displeased!_ ”  
    Loki smiled at Celia’s vehemence, but tried not to let her see it.  He turned her toward the building.  “Steady, now.  Look there.”  
    He pointed out a narrow Dutch door that had most definitely not been in the side of the building before.  The top half was flung open by a plump, pretty, middle aged woman who stuck her head out and shrewdly looked up and down the street.  When she caught sight of Loki and Celia, she demanded, “State your business!”  
    The silk shawl with the ink-painted evergreens was draped around her shoulders.  
    Loki and Celia approached the door.  “We want to speak to Urðr,” Celia said.  
    The woman gasped, “Urðr?  She who dwells in yesterday can only speak of today, tomorrow.”  
    “Please, ma’am,” Celia implored her.  “A man called Ragnkil said she might be able to help me.”  
    The woman eyed Loki suspiciously.  “Ragnkil sent you?”  
    “Well...in a manner of speaking, yes,” Loki hedged.  The woman began to shut the door.  
    “Wait!”  Celia felt like Dorothy trying to gain entrance into the Emerald City to see the Wizard.  Dorothy talked her way past that gatekeeper because she had the ruby slippers as proof of Glinda’s patronage.  “I have Mjøtuor!” Celia cried.  
    The woman paused and looked around the door at the locket Celia held forward on her chest.  “Yes.  So you have.”  
    “Madame,” Loki said grandly, “this is Celia, of Vanaheim.  And I am Loki, of --”  
    “Of nowhere in particular,” the woman interrupted.  “I know all about you Loki, disowned son of Laufey, disgraced son of Odin.”  
    At the barely perceptible flinch in Loki’s face, Celia began to reach for his hand, but his expression hardened with such malice that she held still.  
    “And you, Celia of...Vanaheim, you say?”  The woman looked Celia up and down.  “Well, you certainly aren’t of Midgard, are you, child?”  
    “Um...” Celia was unsure how to respond.  
    “She was raised there, but I assure you --” Loki began.  
    The woman waved her hand at him, “Silence.  You may not wear your Jotun face but you certainly have their boorish manners.  Speak when spoken to.”  She sighed.  “Very well.  You may seek counsel from Urðr on the matter of Mjøtuor.  Enter.”  
    The lower half of the Dutch door swung open and Loki and Celia stepped inside a very small stone hallway.  It had just enough room for them to stand single-file and Loki had to stoop considerably to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.    
    They followed the woman several yards back, where the hallway turned into a steep spiral stairway that led down into the dark.  Celia hesitated and reached back to touch Loki for assurance.  He put his hand on her shoulder and they made their way down the shadowy, circling stairs to another narrow corridor, this one of hard-packed dirt and dimly lit with racing blue lights that rushed above their heads.  The Yggdrasil’s roots held up the ceiling in this passageway, arching above them in thousands of strands illuminated by the lights.  
    “What are they?” Celia asked, referring to the flashes.  
    “I suppose you might call them souls,” the woman replied, with the nonchalance of one for whom the flashes of souls were merely in a day’s work.  “This way.”  
    She opened a plain door set into a space between two massive roots and ushered Loki and Celia into the dwelling of the Norns at the base of the Yggdrasil.  
      
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *See, for example, the carved door at Urnes stave church.


	12. The Norn of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celia sees into Loki's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognize some scenes and dialogue from the Thor and Avengers movies. All quoting is intentional and credit goes to their respective creators.

* * *

He'd found that even the people whose job of work was, so to speak, the Universe,

didn't really believe in it and were actually quite proud

of not knowing what it really was or even if it could theoretically exist.

-Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, _Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophesies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_ , 1990

 

    Loki and Celia sat on the sofa in a cozy parlor, of the sort one might expect of a trio of ancient spinster sisters but an odd incongruity with the intensity of the Yggdrasil’s roots just outside the door.  The place was overrun by doilies in all sizes and patterns; doilies draped over the backs of chairs like antimacassars and resting on the tops of shelves and sideboards to set off a vast array of little knickknacks displayed there, with dozens more doilies framed on the walls.    
    A very old woman with the longest braid Celia had ever seen sat in an overstuffed chintz armchair, deftly working a skein of thread into yet another lacy doily with some sort of needle-binding technique.  After inviting them to have a seat, she turned her attention back to her silent tatting.  That had been several minutes ago.  Celia was starting to feel anxious in the silence.  
    Or, not silence, exactly.  
    More like, pulsing.  
    It wasn’t a noise so much as it was a feeling, a heartbeat that thrummed the very air of the place.  It was unnerving, surreal.  It filled Celia’s chest and crowded out the rhythm of her own heartbeat.  She just wanted to ask her questions and be done with it.  
    But Urðr continued to ignore them.  
    Celia looked at Loki, who merely raised his eyebrows and inclined his head toward the Norn, prompting Celia to begin.  
    “Um...” Celia dithered.  “So, you’re Urðr?”  
    Several beats thumped before the woman replied, “I am.”  
    “I, um...”  
    “You have questions,” Urðr said.  She still didn’t look up from her needles.  
    “Yes.”  
    “You want me to tell you how Mjøtuor could bring back your parents.”  
    “Well, um... _yes_ ,” Celia said eagerly.  “I mean, if you can.”  
    Urðr stopped her work now and looked at Celia.  “I’m sorry, child,” she said, not unkindly.  “You must not bring back those whom Death has already taken.  She would not allow such a thing.  It upsets her balance.  The consequences are dire.  The dead are lost to this world.”  
    Celia recoiled like she’d been slapped in the face.  She could feel her skin flush as though she really had been struck, and she blinked rapidly to keep tears from sliding down her burning cheeks.  Some instinct made her reach out and grip Loki’s knee beside her, and he made no move to stop her from digging her nails into the leather of his trousers.  She should have known better than to have hoped.  Hope was cruel, with its empty promises, proffering glorious possibilities only to take them right out from under you.  Celia breathed shallowly and tried to convince herself that she was not about to cry.  
    “But surely, at its full power, with Mjøtuor she could make it as though they were never taken by Death at all,” Loki said to Urðr.  He instantly wished he hadn't said so much, reluctant to give this wise woman too much insight into his own intentions, but something in Celia's desperate grip made him feel equally desperate to help her.  
    The Norn studied Loki for a moment, sifting through his thoughts, interpreting the true imperative behind his statement.  “Our Lady Death would not allow it,” Urðr repeated.  “And tell me, Loki, son of Frigga, how do you intend to restore the locket to its full power?  I see you have found yourself a Vanir princess but do you suppose you can acquire the stone as easily?”  
    It was Loki’s turn to feel his cheeks burn.  _Son of Frigga_.  He used to cling to that part of his identity, taking comfort in its ability to tether him to his place within his family, fraught though it may have been from time to time.  Now he felt strangled by it, by a false identity that was pre-selected for him -- never a true son of Asgard, never truly a worthy prince in his adoptive parents’ eyes, just a troublesome charity case.  A perpetual outsider.  He had been set up to fail, and he fulfilled his destiny spectacularly.  
    “It mustn’t be done,” Urðr reiterated firmly.  The way she stared at him, Loki couldn’t be sure if she was speaking of Celia’s parents or Loki’s own less sentimental intentions for the locket.  “But you have other questions,” the Norn continued, turning back to Celia.  “Things I may help you to understand...”  
    Celia nodded, grasping at the jumble of questions whipping through her mind on a hurricane of renewed grief.  She wasn’t entirely sure she could speak without letting it wreak havoc upon her.  She wrapped her mind around what seemed like the least painful question and whispered, “Please, can you tell me how my mother got this locket?  Did she know what it can do?”  
    Urðr shook her head.  “Your mother did not know.  She inherited the locket from her grandmother, who was given the locket at her naming ceremony, when she was only hours old.”  
    “Celia’s _great-grandmother_ is _the_ lost Vanir princess?” Loki asked, incredulous.   
    Celia looked from Loki to Urðr.  “I don’t understand.”  
    “But why waste our efforts weaving words to echo the past when the child can simply look back and see for herself?” Urðr continued.  
    “What do you mean?” Celia asked.  
    “You come from a great line of seers, Celia of Vanaheim,” Urőr explained.  “These abilities have not been entirely diluted by your partial Midgardian heritage, they lie latent inside you.  Mjøtuor was created to enhance the abilities of the Vanir princess.  Without the stone, you cannot use the locket to _control_ time, but it can still draw forth the sight that is inside you.  Have you not worn Mjøtuor against your breast?  Did you not feel it quicken your sight?”  
    Celia looked down to where Mjøtuor hung on her shirt.  “I put it on once,” she recalled.  “But it, I don’t know...it, like, _burned_ me.  I only had it on for a second.”  
    Urðr nodded.  “You must allow it to burn away your senses, that you may access your inner sight.  Put Mjøtuor on now, and look into your own blood’s past.”  
    Celia hesitated and looked at Loki for guidance, but he was not entirely sure how to guide her.  Things were not going according to plan, and he feared that Celia would spook like a frightened deer if he made the wrong move.  Up until now, she had taken things in stride under the singular motivation that it was bringing her closer to understanding her past and taking charge of the injustices that had marred it.  Now that Urðr had shut down with certain finality Celia’s goal of restoring her parents, would the girl change her mind about all of it?  Would she still hand over the locket to Loki, or would she keep it close as she scrambled to rally a new plan to reclaim her parents’ lives?    
    “Will it hurt me?” Celia finally asked.  
    Urðr considered the question for a few moments before responding.  “It will not _injure_ you directly, but it will exhaust you.  Magic takes energy and you are but a novice.  We must begin easily until you have developed the strength of your full gifts.  Your own blood’s past is the simplest way to begin.”  
    Celia nodded.  This made sense.  Hanging around with Loki the past few days, she’d seen how sustaining complex magic could be exhausting.  She unclasped Mjøtuor from where it hung on her shirt and fastened the chain around her neck, allowing the heavy hemisphere to slip beneath the green fabric so the metal touched the skin over her heart.  
    “Concentrate on yourself, on your past,” Urðr coached her in a soothing voice.  “Don’t try to conjure any particular moment in your mind, instead feel yourself looking backward at yourself, across time.”  
    Closing her eyes and clenching her fists, Celia tried to breathe slowly, to check her fear as she felt Mjøtuor grow uncomfortably warmer against her chest.  She tried to focus on herself, on her past, on looking backward at herself across time, whatever all that was supposed to mean, and ignore the frightening white hot feeling that began to overpower her senses.  She could no longer detect the pulsing rhythm of the Yggdrasil, and she could barely still feel her own nails digging into her palms.    
    Feeling herself teetering on the precipice of some vast and unknown void, Celia began to panic.  Wildly, she shot out her hand and groped for Loki’s, interlacing her fingers among his before the last of her senses were burned away in a blaze of white heat.

* * *

  
    The white hot void becomes a cold and dark one.  So, so cold.  The coldness makes her skin feel raw and chapped, like she has been exposed to the elements for her entire life.  Lying on some hard surface.  _This is hurting me!  I don’t like this!  I’m frightened!  Someone help me!_   Celia tries to move herself up to sitting, to perhaps find some shelter, but can’t seem to lift herself at all.  Her limbs just flail helplessly.  _Am I crying?_   Wailing that she begins to recognize as coming from her own lungs echoes off the barren rocks that surround her.  
     _This isn’t right_.  Celia feels no part of herself here.  She senses instinctively that this is not even her mysterious great-grandmother’s past.  This past is not of her blood.  This is someone else’s past altogether.  
    A battle-worn man approaches.  His heavy armor, topped with a great horned helmet, is imposing.  The blood smeared across his face, no doubt some of it the result of his gouged-out eye, is gruesome.  But he picks up the crying, vulnerable little form Celia inhabits and looks upon it with a sort of kindness.  The wailing ceases as Celia feels a change come over the small body.    
    And then, like the wind ripping away a newspaper before the story has been read to the end, the vignette whips out of Celia’s mind and she begins to observe a series of moments flashing through her consciousness.    
    Still tiny, still helpless, but now laying in a soft, warm cradle of resplendent green velvet, Celia gazes up as a smiling blond child shakes a silver rattle just out of reach, and feels so happy as laughter bubbles from the cradle.  _Oh, it’s him!  I like him!_   Her legs kick in delight when the boy hands down the toy.  She clutches the rattle and shakes it.  _This is fun!  I can make the noise, too!_   It pleases her that she can emulate this wonderful blond boy.  
    Bigger now, running, chasing after that blond boy through a maze of corridors, fumbling with a heavy wooden sword and desperate to keep up as the boy turns and shouts, “Come on, brother!  _For Asgard!_ ” before flinging himself at the feet of a man with a grey beard and a gold eye-patch.  _Father!_   He lifts the blond boy into the air, “My mighty warrior!”  Celia wills her legs to run faster, to also be scooped up by this man she looks up to so much, but her feet stumble and she trips over the wooden sword, falling on her face.  Looking up, the man has already moved on.  _I’m sorry, Father.  Next time, I’ll reach you, too.  For Asgard!_  
    Adolescent, now.  Surrounded by three boys and a fierce looking girl holding fistfuls of her long, raven-black hair as if she would rip it out.  Taunts and jeers drown out the stammering attempts to explain that no harm was intended.  The biggest boy with the makings of a full ginger beard and a prodigious pot-belly shoves, hard.  Down, into the mud.  They all begin to kick, shouting.  The blond boy -- truly a young man now -- breaks up the brawl.  _Brother_ , Celia thinks with relief.  Holding out a hand, but he does not offer assistance.  He is disappointed.  He looks to the dark-haired girl, and then back at Celia with the pain of betrayal in his face.  Shaking his head, the blond young man follows the gang as they leave Celia behind in the mud.  _I only meant a bit of mischief...it was an accident..._  
    A soft embrace.  She smells of clean linens and fresh flowers and the warm, spicy-sweet aroma of bath oils.  She has to stand on tip-toe now, to bestow these embraces, but they always make the troubles of the world melt away just like they always have, like when the embraces were cradling, rocking to sleep in her arms.  Tilting her head back, with a loving smile she says quietly, “Well done, my son.”  _Mother._   “Now,” she continues, “try again.  Just as before.”  Magic buzzes in Celia’s fingertips, emanating pulses of energy aimed at wooden targets.  Another winning smile from Mother as one explodes -- another target hit!  “You are not as big as your brother, nor as strong in battle, but you have your own strengths.  We will hone them together.  You are your own warrior.”  Celia realizes that these afternoons with Frigga are the only times she feels content, proud of herself, at peace with who she is.  
    Celia feels weakened now, but she doesn’t know how to make the visions stop.  She can’t hold onto them as long, and they don’t come as clear now.  They begin to manifest in a single pang of emotion or sensory experience: loneliness, disappointment, pain, regret, longing, self-doubt, exhaustion, humiliation.  There is no peace any longer, not even with Mother.  Such feelings have become too intermingled with struggles for power, with jealousy, manipulation, deceit.  Celia lets herself be carried away on a swift current of visions, overpowered by these experiences of the past that are not her own.  There are so many, she begins to feel weighed down, as if she would drown in them.  
    And then, rallying her strength, she manages to slow one down.  Icy panic is crystallizing in her veins as she looks down at her hands, which are turning blue.  _Why?  What’s happened to me?  I’m cursed, I knew it.  I knew there was something wrong with me._  
    Exhausted, Celia’s mind begins to falter in its grip on this moment of the past.  She clings to it desperately.  It seems important, a turning point.  
    “Laufey’s son...” she hears herself say, stunned by the revelation.  _Of course.  No wonder they all hate me.  They could never have loved me.  I’m just a monster to them._  
    Words tumbling out, desperate and frightened, accusing and demanding answers from this man, _the All-father who is not my father._  
    “You’re my son,” Odin insists.  “I only wanted to protect you from the truth.”  
    Somehow, this attempt at reassurance heaps insult upon injury.  _Because the truth of what I am is such a terrible shame it should be hidden away for a thousand years?_  
    “What? Because I...I...I'm the monster that parents tell their children about at night?”  
    “No!” Odin says, his face blanching.  “No!”  
    The anger, the betrayal, the pain of an entire identity shattered, that it was a lie the entire time, rips through Celia like a red hot dagger.  “It all makes sense _now_ , why you favored _Thor_ all these years! Because no matter how much you claim to love _me_ , you could never have a _Frost Giant_ sitting on the throne of Asgard!”  
    Odin goes down.  _No!  No, Father, I didn’t mean it!_   “Guards!” Celia shouts, suddenly feeling as helpless as when she’d been a freezing, crying infant alone on a rock.  “Guards!”  But that time, Odin had been the deliverer.  Now, he lay still.  _I must make this right.  I can show him, I am a worthy son of Asgard.  I am Odin’s son.  He chose me to be his son.  I can show him that I am.  I have to._   Celia feels profoundly that this is the only way to reclaim the lost identity, the one that never truly was.  It must be so, at any cost.  
    But the words feel hollow, and Celia’s chest aches with the emptiness of the lies she tells herself.  Weakened by grief, she loses the moment and it is whisked away.  
     _Thor.  Everything I was supposed to be.  Everything I can never be.  Odin’s son._   “I never wanted the throne! I only ever wanted to be your equal!”  Regret wells up inside and then rushes by.  
    Suddenly, a moment of pain is so sharp, it digs itself into Celia’s mind like the prongs of an anchor dragging at the ocean floor.  The moment stops.  
    Lost.  All is lost.  Destroyed.  The Bifrost, destroyed.  _My life, destroyed.  All is lost._   Dangling from the handle of Odin’s spear over a fathomless black chasm ripped open in the Sea of Space.  _Thor will save us.  Somehow, he will.  He always does._   In her heart, Celia feels she ought to be grateful for this, but she feels only deep resentment.  _Why can it never be me?_  
    She looks at Odin.  She only ever wanted to prove that she was good enough to be his true son.  She never meant so much harm.  It had all gone so wrong, and Celia knows at that moment with perfect clarity that things have been altered permanently -- her place in the world and within this family is no more.  
    She makes her choice.  She says, “I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you!  For all of us...”  But what she means is, _I’m so sorry.  Goodbye..._  
    And Odin says, “No, Loki.”  
    But Celia understands this to mean, _You were never going to be a true son of Asgard_.      
    And she knows the choice she has made is the only choice for her now.  Her hand begins to loosen its grip on the spear.  
    “Loki, no!” shouts Thor.  
     _It’s better this way_ , Celia thinks as she plummets into the abyss.  Her heart is breaking and she closes her eyes, hoping it will all be over soon.  It will be such a relief when it is.  
    But it isn’t.  It goes on.  And on.  And on and on and on.  For how long, she cannot measure.  She cannot be sure she is still in this moment, or if it is simply time rushing past her consciousness again.  But the pain and fatigue is so vivid, it refuses to be washed away like the millennia of moments that had come before it.  She feels weak with thirst and half-mad from falling through space across the Nine Realms.    
    A voice invades her now-vulnerable mind.  The voice is not her own.  It is ancient and evil and pregnant with power.  The falling slows.    
    “What have we here?  You are a long way from home, Asgardian.  But, no... You are not really a son of Asgard, are you, little Frost Giant?”  
    It probes the deepest recesses of her mind.  She feels it slithering through her like worms through a corpse.  
    “Ah,” says the voice, seizing upon some psychic potential.  “How fortunate for you, Loki of Asgard, that you may be of service to Thanos the Overmaster, Champion of Death, for I shall in return burden you with the glorious purpose of your most cherished desires.”  
    And then, pain.  Pain from the fire of a thousand suns.  
  



	13. The Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is revealed what happened to Loki after he fell from the Bifrost, and he and Celia come to a new understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognize some scenes and dialogue from the Thor and Avengers movies. All quoting is intentional and credit goes to their respective creators.

* * *

“You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life,   
to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so.

It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation; this is the curse at work,   
the curse that feeds on all life. Everywhere in the universe.”  
-Philip Dick, _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_ 1968

 

    It was the burning that first prompted Celia consider that maybe this was not all actually happening to _her_.  The burning reminded her of something.  Something that did not seem to belong to this body or this mind.  She began to debate with herself over whether or not this could even be true.  In those moments, she realized that she was more of a witness to the burning than suffering from it.  
    It also occurred to her that the Overmaster did not seem to be aware of those moments.  He did not seem to detect her thoughts that were witnessing, rather than experiencing, the pain.  This seemed a very important blindness in Thanos’s otherwise apparent omnipotence.  The more she witnessed the torture, the more Celia understood that she was not Loki.  She was simply looking back through Loki’s past.  This happened to him.  And somehow, she was witnessing it.  
     _Mjøtuor_ , she remembered.  _I am not here.  I am sitting on a sofa in a little room at the base of the World Tree, and I am holding Loki’s hand, and I was supposed to be looking back at my own ancestor but somehow I ended up looking back at Loki._  
    Looking back _as_ Loki, not merely at him.  But now that she was conscious of herself, as an entity separate from Loki, she was able to move freely between the two.  
    And Celia could not decide which was worse.  
    Sometimes, she had a bird’s-eye view of his suffering.  His body stripped bare, suspended upside-down in midair, was subjected to regular intervals of searing electrocution.  It made his skin turn blue all over, and his eyes burned red.  Celia came to understand that this was Loki’s Frost Giant form.  The torture was so taxing that his body could not sustain his Asgardian appearance despite wearing it unaltered for over a thousand years.  Celia felt profoundly guilty for witnessing these moments of the intimate degradation of Loki’s physical expression of identity.  
    Occupying Loki’s perspective was no better, merely a different sort of invasive horror.  When the burning let up, Thanos invaded Loki’s mind and forced him to relive a millennia of painful, humiliating, and otherwise tragic memories.  Celia felt duty-bound to maintain her presence in Loki’s mind when this happened.  Neither past-Loki nor past-Thanos were remotely aware of her, but she somehow felt as though she couldn’t just abandon Loki to his own mind turning against him.  She could feel it twisting in on itself, obscuring any part of him that was connected to the love of his family, or his fragile identity as part of them.    
    Loki’s desire to be accepted, to know his place in the world, to be a worthy son of Asgard, warped under this torture into a singular drive for power and domination under the auspices of Thanos, himself.  
    Thanos would, on occasion, address Loki directly.  
    “I have no quarrel with you, Titan,” Loki would insist, fighting desperately to banish the blue tone of his flesh after hours of electrocution had racked it.  
    “An ant has no quarrel with a boot,” Thanos often replied unfeelingly, allowing Loki to return to his Asgardian form before jolting him back to blue again with the burning pain.  
    It was not until Loki relinquished to Thanos, gave himself over to the pain, that he began to earn a reprieve.    
    “Yes, good,” Thanos said to him.  “No need to resist.  I come with glad tidings of a world made free.”  
    “Free from what?” whispered Loki.  
    “Freedom,” answered Thanos.  “Freedom is life’s great lie.  The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity.  Once you accept that, in your heart, you will know peace.”  
    Loki turned this over in his exhausted, broken mind.  Why had he been resisting?  What Thanos said was true.  He’d never been free.  He’d always been circumscribed by an identity that was a lie.  He only never knew it until now.  What was Thanos offering him, but a chance to transcend that lie?  Or, wait -- was that right?  He couldn’t quite remember.  He thought it was right.  It must be true.  Loki strained to recall what was so important about resisting Thanos, but he found nothing.  And, it might make the pain stop.  
    Celia felt a change come over Loki’s mind at that moment.  She could no longer hear Loki’s own thoughts, see his own motives or memories.  It was as though she had tuned into a blank station with nothing but white noise.  The only discernible voice was Thanos.  The only awareness in Loki was his captivation by a scepter fitted with a glowing blue stone that some minion of the Overmaster, The Other, had presented to him.  Loki’s eyes glowed blue, like the stone, and it called to some beacon of energy that frightened Celia with its unmitigated power.  
    There were no more lucid moments after that, and Celia began to look for a way out of Loki’s past.  How long had she been here?  What was happening to her body while she looked over a thousand years of Loki’s life?  How could Urðr have let her do this with no training or practice?  Hoping she wasn’t stuck here forever, Celia concentrated hard on the moment she’d left back at the Yggdrasil, thinking it would somehow draw her back there, when several blows to Loki’s head sharply drew her attention.  
    Celia looked out from Loki’s eyes, dazed but aware of his sudden cognizance, free from Thanos and the blue stone.  Chaos raged all around.  _Oh my god, this is the top of Stark Tower!_   Celia realized.  _Why is Loki in New York?_   Her heart sank when she realized, this was the attack on New York.  And Loki had not lied to her.  He wasn’t one of the heroes.    
    “Look at this!” someone shouted, pinning Loki against a wall.    
    “Look around you!” Thor was shouting at his brother.  “You think this madness will end with your rule?”  
    “It’s too late,” Loki said as he took in the scene of destruction.  “It’s too late to stop it.”  
    “No,” insisted Thor.  “We can.  Together.”  He looked so earnest.  So willing to believe there was still some good in Loki.  
    Seizing that look, that promise from his brother, Loki rallied.  An entire war raged within his mind in the space of a second.  
    Then, he unsheathed a dagger and stabbed Thor in the ribs.  
     _No!_ Celia shouted helplessly as the waves of Thanos’s control pulled Loki back under.  But it was different now.  Loki was fighting.  He was losing, but he was still fighting.  _That counts for a lot._  
    Emancipation came from an unlikely ally.  Celia almost couldn’t believe how simple it was, in the end, to literally knock Thanos out of Loki’s head.  It merely required having it repeatedly Hulk-smashed into the ground.  _Oh my god, it’s the actual Hulk!  I thought he would be taller,_ Celia thought.    
    In the aftermath, Loki sat, bound and gagged and heavily guarded by J.A.R.V.I.S. in the wrecked penthouse of Stark Tower while the Avengers convened elsewhere to deal with some important lingering issue.  _Shawarma has got to be code for something,_ Celia thought.  _They can’t be literally going out for shawarma at a time like this._   Because at that moment, Celia was more afraid for Loki than she had been at even the worst of Thanos’s torture.  
    She had felt Thanos’s control over Loki’s mind dissolve.  But the experience had not left his mind altogether unaltered.  A thousand jagged edges remained, and Celia rasped against them as she occupied Loki’s perspective now.  It was as if all the pain and anger and darkness in Loki that had been bottled up for a thousand years and buried deep were now pulled to the surface and unleashed.  Thanos had not manufactured that side of Loki, simply raised it up and used it to maintain his grip on Loki’s mind, and it did not shift back down simply because Thanos had released it.    
    Before the Avengers returned to collect Loki, Celia began to lose touch with the sights and sounds of Stark Tower.  She had become well acquainted with the subtle nuances of burning, and this time she did not panic as she recognized the sensation.  She was, at last, leaving Loki’s past and, she hoped, returning to her own present.

* * *

  
    Thirty seconds felt like an eternity to Loki as he fought to free his hand from Celia’s unmoving, iron fist.  He hadn’t been thinking when she reached for him, had allowed her to hold his hand out of some inexplicable reflex to comfort her, and then realized his mistake an instant too late.    
    Celia would not look into her own blood’s past now.  The skin-to-skin contact would bring her to Loki’s past instead.  She was not experienced enough in her abilities to resist the pull, to direct her gaze at will.  
    He worried that it would drain her energy dangerously low, perhaps even put her into a coma.  Loki knew his past would be a lot to take for a novice on her first try using this magic.    
    And, he worried that she would despise him once she saw it.  That it would all be over.  
    Urðr watched with interest but not concern, barely slowing her fingers as they knotted the lace.    
    “Do something!” Loki demanded of the Norn, struggling against Celia’s grasp.  With his free hand, he gingerly reached down Celia’s shirt for the locket, intending to break the chain and pull her out of the vision, but the metal burned so hot he couldn’t touch it.  
    Urðr let several seconds slip by before she finally intervened.  She set her fancywork aside, hefted her ancient form out of her chair, wound her long braid around her arm a few times, and ambled over to Loki and Celia.  She put out her hand and paused, looking down at Loki.  “You want many things.  So many it could fill the Sea of Space.  The seas have endless caves and fissures where you search for your gratification, but it is as sunbeams shimmering atop the waves.  Do not tarry in your caves overlong, Loki, for that which you seek dances at the surface of your ocean, and you must come up for air or be lost forever to the deep.”  
    Then Urðr touched Celia’s forehead, and Loki felt her hand go slack in his.  He hesitated before unlacing their fingers and turning to look at her, bracing for Celia to assault him with fury, betrayal, disgust.  
    But she merely stared at him, dazed and with eyes full of tears.  
    “Oh... _Loki_ ,” Celia breathed, reaching out to touch his face before she slumped against his chest.  

* * *

  
    She was determined to not pass out, but Celia felt so fatigued she couldn’t hold herself upright.  She wasn’t sure she could ever convince herself to wake up again if she let herself close her eyes, so she fought to keep them open, pressed her forehead against the cool leather at Loki’s shoulder, and concentrated on breathing in and out.      
    “Lo...ki,” Celia managed only one syllable with each exhale.  “Lo...”  
    His arms enveloped her, taking Mjøtuor from around her neck.  He quickly pocketed the locket before gently cradling the back of her head, wrapping his other arm around her waist.  Celia didn’t quite understand that he wasn’t hugging her so much as he was keeping her from collapsing onto the floor.  She tried to reciprocate the embrace but her arm kept slipping down when she moved to lift it around his neck.  She settled for letting her hand rest in the crook of his elbow as he lifted her and lay her back against the cushions.  She didn’t have enough strength left to hold onto him, as she desperately wanted to, and she felt betrayed by her own hands when Loki easily released his elbow from her feeble grasp.   
    “I will bring her a tonic that will hasten her recovery,” Urðr said, leaving Loki and Celia alone in the little parlor with the pulsing of the World Tree to fill the awkward silence between them.  Loki got up and paced the room.  
     _Well_ , Celia thought to herself.  _At least things make more sense now._   The Chitauri attacks, Loki being so nice to her, his remarkably good timing when he saved her back at her apartment.  How much of his behavior towards her was just an act, to manipulate her?  She’d known he wanted Mjøtuor, but now that she had seen his past, seen his state of mind after it had been invaded by Thanos, she wondered whether she should be more afraid of Loki.  He didn’t want the locket to right some wrong in his past.  He wanted it for revenge.  For power.  Would he try to offer it to Thanos as a consolation prize, having lost the Titan the Tesseract?  Would he use it to lord over Asgard, somehow?    
    If he continued to help her get what she wanted from the locket, did she even care what he did with it afterward?    
    Maybe they were not so different.  Maybe this didn’t change things.  
    “Well...now you know everything,” Loki finally said, bitterly.  
    “Lo,” Celia said, struggling for enough breath to speak.  “Please.  Don’t.”  
    “Don’t _what?_ ”  
    “Don’t...be... _a dick_ ,” Celia labored to smile at him.  She could see the ends of Loki’s mouth twitch up despite himself as he turned to pace away from her.    
    Celia drew a few deep breaths.  “Why...why didn’t you...just... _tell them?_ ”  
    Loki paused and looked her in the eye.  There was no trace of a smile in his face now.  “Better to be thought a villain than a weakling.”  
    “Those...are _not_...your only...choices.”  
    Loki crossed his arms.  “Oh, no?  Are you going to enumerate now my many other choices?  By all means, enlighten me.”  He leaned forward menacingly and hissed, “Please tell me you’re going to appeal to my humanity.”  
    Celia decided then and there, she was not afraid of Loki.  He was dangerous, she knew that now.  Maybe not in any immediate sense to her in particular, but he would do nothing but harm with Mjøtuor in his control.  She was fairly certain of that.  She was also fairly certain that she didn’t really care.  In fact, she was counting on his need for power and his flexible conscience now.  _As long as he promises to leave Earth alone, it’s not really my problem, is it?_ Celia reasoned.  _He won’t hurt me_.  She wasn’t sure how she knew this, was unable to put the whys and wherefores of it into precise words, but she felt sure that Loki would never hurt her.  In fact, it seemed ridiculous that he was trying to intimidate her now.  
    Celia rolled her eyes at Loki.  “Your humanity?” She repeated slowly, still struggling for breath but striving to enunciate every word.  “No.  I am going to appeal to your...”  She paused, searching for the right way to put it, and then smiled again.  “Your _anarchy_.”  
    There was a certain mischief in her smile that Loki recognized.  “I’m listening.”  
    “Ok,” Celia took another deep breath.  “Urðr did not say that I _couldn’t_ get my parents back.  She only said that I _mustn’t_.”  
    “Yes.”    
    “So, I’m thinking that you could probably help me get into the... _essential differences_ between the two.”    
    “It is not so very nuanced.  It’s simple, really.  You _could_ do it, but it would bring about severe consequences.  It _would_ provoke Death.”  
    “Yeah,” Celia agreed.  “That part, I figured.”  
    “And all your concern for the, what did you call it?  The space-time continuum?  The witch Hermione?  What happened to your infinite benevolent wisdom, _Princess?_ ”  
    Celia gave a little shrug.  “I mean...  Do I look _wise_ to you?”   
    At that, Loki grinned.  “Not in the slightest.  However, I have observed in you a certain abundance of recklessness.”  
    “Exactly.”    
    Loki considered this for a moment.  “And, in return for my assistance?  The locket?”  
    Celia hesitated.  “I already told you that I’ll give it to you.  After.”  
    Loki shook his head.  “You said you’d give it to me if I brought you here.”  
    “Yeah, but you knew.  You knew what they’d say,” Celia said.  
    “I did try to tell you.  I offered to show you, myself.  You are the one who insisted we consult the Norns,” he reminded her.  
    “That’s true...”  She bit her lip.  “But you only offered after you tried to lie about it.  After I called you out.”  
    “It wasn’t entirely a lie,” he protested.  “I couldn’t tell you anything about your past.  I truly knew nothing of it.  I wasn’t even sure you were the Vanir princess until Ragnkil...”  
    “I know.”  
    “Yes, now you know everything,” Loki said again, turning back to his pacing with a huff.  
    “No,” Celia protested.  “I don’t know if I should trust you.”  
    “You should not,” he said, facing the wall.  
    Celia gave a breathy laugh.  “See, that’s the thing, Loki.  I don’t even know if I believe you when you say I shouldn’t trust you.  Isn’t that crazy?  But you...  To me,” Celia paused, thinking of how safe and warm she’d felt sleeping in his arms, unsure of how to explain herself.    
    Loki scowled at his feet.  “Give me the locket now,” he demanded, his tone harsh, “because you probably won’t live to give it to me after whatever you have planned to trick Death.”  
    She ignored his implicit threat.  “How do I know you’d still help me?”  
    “You don’t.”    
    “That isn’t very convincing,” Celia pointed out.  What was he playing at?  Was Loki so determined to be the villain, even with her?  Would he be purposefully cruel to her now, to somehow pay her back for seeing into his vulnerable past?  She thought of the night at the inn, of the glass flower crown he gave to her for no apparent reason, and instead of seeming poignant or meaningful, the memories only enhanced the sting of his words.  Maybe he regretted all of that now.  Maybe he didn’t really mean any of it.  Maybe he really was just trying to manipulate her.  
    Before Loki could respond, Urðr returned, followed by a beautiful young woman carrying a tray with Celia’s tonic.  As the woman set the tray down on the table next to the sofa, Celia realized that her coppery red hair was adorned with the forget-me-not flower crown.  “My crown!” she yelped.  
    The woman wove her fingers around its streaming ribbons.  “ _My_ crown.  A lovely gift,” she said coldly, seductively side-eyeing Loki.  
    Celia’s jaw jutted in annoyance as she took the warm cup from the tray and sipped the steaming tea.  It tasted like dirt and burned her tongue, but she immediately felt stronger from even the single sip.  
    “I didn’t _mean_ to give the crown,” Celia said.  “The tree just _took_ it.”  
    “The future takes recompense for its debts as it sees fit,” said the woman.  She stood in front of Loki now, leaning close.  Too close, in Celia’s opinion.  
    “I am Skuld,” she whispered, taking a deep breath so her bosom heaved over her tightly laced gown, nearly rubbing against Loki’s chest.  “How shall you secure _your_ future, Loki of Asgard?”  She peered up at him coquettishly from beneath long lashes, her black eyes shining like onyx.    
    Loki stood very still.  He could feel outrage emanating from Celia as Skuld stretched up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “Were you not its rightful king?”  
    His hands drifted to the Norn’s hips and she pressed against the length of his body.  Loki bent his head as though he would kiss her and whispered against the nape of her neck, “That flower circlet is merely a worthless glass trinket.  I can’t bear to see it mar your beauty.  Would you not prefer this fine bracelet I have in my pocket?”  He brought Skuld’s wrist to his lips, touching it with a lingering kiss.  “It would be truly exquisite on such a lovely arm.”    
    Skuld arched her head back and closed her eyes before pulling away from Loki.  She laughed as she sauntered in a circle around him, looking him up and down appraisingly.  Then she paused and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.  “Shall I reach into your pocket?” she purred.  
    Loki held out his arms in invitation.  He fixed his eyes on Celia as Skuld groped his chest with a wanton grin, sliding her hands down his body and then caressing his hips before plunging her hands into the pockets beneath his tunic.    
     _Why is he doing this?_ Celia thought, dejectedly trying to hide her face as she drank the tonic.  She wasn’t going to let Loki think he was getting to her, so she held his gaze above the cup.  But then Loki gasped and closed his eyes, and Celia had to look away.  She didn’t want to think about what Skuld’s hands were doing in his pockets just then.  
    The beautiful Norn removed an item from Loki’s pocket and held it up, triumphant.  “I do not desire your bracelet,” she declared.  
    “No!” Celia cried when she realized what Skuld had found.  “You cannot have Mjøtuor!”  
    “She knows she cannot have it,” Urðr interjected over her lacework.  “Nor does she need it.  Finish your game, sister, and send them on their way.”  
    Skuld smirked at Celia as she bargained.  “You may have your little glass circlet, in exchange for Loki using the locket to glimpse his future.”  
    “I’m not ready to give it to him,” Celia protested.  
    “Such a thing is not necessary,” said Urðr.  “If he puts into the locket an item that is precious to him, Mjøtuor will allow him such a vision.”  
    Loki smiled politely at Skuld.  “Your thorough exploration of my person no doubt revealed that I have no such item here with me.”  
    “Oh, no?” Skuld challenged.    
    “I have only the bracelet.”  
    “And what is hidden up your sleeve?  A magic trick?” Skuld taunted, flashing a sadistic grin that withered Loki’s own smile from his face.  
    “It’s nothing,” he said urgently.  “There’s nothing in my sleeve.”    
    “I know that isn’t true,” Skuld scolded.  She turned to Celia.  “Some wear their heart _on_ their sleeve.  But our Loki?  He secrets his inside.  Won’t you show us, darling?”  
    “Just stop,” Celia said.  “Forget it.  I don’t want the flower crown.  You keep it.”  
    Skuld laughed and slipped the circlet from her head.  “I don’t care about this trifle.”  She flung the crown at Celia.  It landed on the ground with a tinkling of glass, and Celia left it where it fell.  “But he does,” Skuld continued.  “He cares about it because you care, little princess.  He wanted to _make you care_.”  
    “Skuld...” warned Urðr.  “You’ve had your fun.  They didn’t come here to consult you.  Let them be.”  
    Skuld clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes at Loki.  “It will end you,” she informed him.  “ _It will end you_.”  
    Loki bit his lip and approached Skuld.  With a deadly calm, he put his arm around her, pressing his hand to the small of her back as bent and whispered in her ear, “It already has.”  
    Celia couldn’t hear what Loki said, but it must have been effective because Skuld froze.  She made no move to stop Loki when he brought his hand up to pry the locket from hers.  Then, he nodded to Urðr.  “We are grateful for all your assistance,” he said sarcastically.  
    Loki stalked to the sofa and lifted Celia into his arms without looking at her.  
    “I can walk,” she said in a small voice.  “I think.”  
    Loki's eyes burned, and his only response was to hold her tighter.


	14. The Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Odin isn't winning any father of the year awards any time soon.

* * *

 

Fathers should be neither seen nor heard. That is the only proper basis for family life.   
Mothers are different. Mothers are darlings.  
  
Oscar Wilde, _An Ideal Husband_ , 1895

  
  
    Once back outside, Loki made no move to put Celia down, holding her close as he set out along the empty road.  Taking in his set jaw and steely gaze, she decided it wasn’t any use to insist.  Plus, she was still pretty worn out.  She let her head fall against the nape of his neck, where she could feel his pulse racing.  He was definitely angry, and it made Celia anxious.  She didn’t want him to be angry with her.  
    The velvety dusk had deepened into a twinkling, starry night by the time they began to approach a crowded crossroads.  Loki turned into a deserted alley and set Celia on her feet.  
    “You haven’t said a word in like an hour,” she whispered.  He hadn’t even so much as looked at her, in fact.  
    “What would you have me say, Celia?” he whispered back, picking at his palm to avoid having to look at her.  
    “Skuld was just being a bitch, you know?  Forget about what she did.  It doesn’t matter.”  
    Loki gave a dark laugh.  Of all the things that might now be awkward between them now, she was focused on _that?_   He couldn’t understand why this girl who had seen every intimate detail of his most profound transgressions throughout his entire life continued to place herself squarely on his side.  To give him any benefit of the doubt.  He understood even less why it meant so much to him that she did.  Who was Celia, really, but a means to an end?    
     _Even lying to yourself, now?_ Loki thought.  The faded flower felt heavy in his sleeve.  This wasn’t something he could have.  It was a weakness.  Look at how easily Skuld had exploited it.  And yet, he half hoped Celia would press the issue.  Force him to reveal what he had up his sleeve.  Get it out in the open so he could purge himself of it.  If that was even how these things worked.  He didn’t really know.  He only knew that what Celia thought of him seemed important.    
    Her refusal to see him as a villain, even now that she knew of his past, even though she had every right to see him that way, gave something back to Loki that he had accepted as lost forever.  He hadn’t even realized that it meant anything to lose it until he saw it in Celia’s face when she smiled at him.  Humanity.  Acceptance.  Compassion.  Only it would not occur to Loki to call it any of these things, and in his mental struggle to name the feelings, he could only think to label it...  
     _Weakness._  
    Glancing up, Loki realized that Celia was crying silently.  “What is it?” he asked roughly, masking his genuine concern with a tone of annoyance.  
    Now Celia laughed, wiping her face with her sleeve.  “It’s nothing.  I don’t know.”  
    Loki resumed his nervous picking at his palm.  It kept his hands busy so they weren’t free to gather her back into his arms.  
    “I just really miss them, Loki,” Celia continued.  “I thought this was going to fix things.  I really did.  It isn’t fair.  I miss them _so much_.  I feel lost without them.”  
    “Your parents?”  
    Celia nodded.  “What can I do?” she asked tearfully, imploringly, as if his answer could solve everything.    
    Loki thought of Skuld’s ominous prediction.  _It will end you._   Such an elegant solution to so many of his problems, perhaps.  And who was he to contradict Fate?  
    “Give me the locket.  Let me see what I can do,” he answered.  
    “No!” Celia protested.  “You told me that I couldn’t trust you.”  
    “And _you_ told _me_ that you didn’t believe it,” Loki countered.  “You have no idea what sort of magic you’re dealing in, Celia.  You have no idea how much worse things could be.  You couldn’t even control your abilities to take a simple glance into the past.  How do you expect to change it?  To negotiate with Death?  You’re just a human girl!”      
    She narrowed her eyes at him.  “This entire time you’ve only been helping me because you knew I wouldn’t be able to pull it off and you thought I’d just give you the locket anyway?”  
    “No... _no_ ,” Loki insisted, although that _was_ what he’d hoped, not to mention what she’d agreed to.  “No, but now that you’ve tried to use Mjøtuor, it is abundantly clear that this task is beyond your ability.  You aren’t fully Vanir, you may never be strong enough.  Give me the locket.  I will help you.  Am I not your _friend?_ ”  
    “I don’t know.  Are you?” Celia asked.  There was no sarcasm or bitterness in her voice, only pointed, piercing hopefulness that cut Loki like a dagger to the heart.  
   _It will end you._  
 _It already has._  
    “So it would seem,” Loki sighed.    
    Maybe deceit really was just his nature, even against his own will.  Because Loki had no intention of giving Celia any assistance with this insane plan of hers, whatever her plan may be to reunite with her parents.  The best possible outcome would be Death taking Celia’s life so she might join them.  Loki couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what the many worse case scenarios might involve.  Was it treacherous to deceive Celia for her own good?  
    Yes, caring was a weakness.  Things had become unnecessarily complicated.  Loki wasn’t sure how to extricate himself from his feelings for Celia, how to disentangle his drive for power from his desire to protect her, and to live up to her expectations of him as -- as what?  Therein lay the problem.  She seemed to genuinely accept him as-is, and Loki couldn’t wrap his mind around it.  How could he assert control over something so precious to him that was also so ineffable?  If Celia trusted him enough to just hand over Mjøtuor, it was as though she _knew_ he would do the right thing by it.    
     _What is the right thing in all this?  How does she know it when I cannot?_  
    “You have the locket?” Celia asked, taking a deep breath.  
    Loki took it from his pocket and held it out to her, dangling the hemisphere from the chain.    
    “What am I supposed to do?” she asked, cupping the swinging locket in two hands like an offering.  
    Loki closed his hands around hers so that Mjøtuor was enveloped inside them.  “Not here,” he said after several moments.  “We are too exposed here.  I know someplace we can go that is more...private.  Safe.”    
    Releasing her hands, he turned on his heel and with a flash of green resumed the appearance of a palace guard.  Celia followed Loki around the corner and into the street.  She hoped they were going back to that luxurious inn, because she was exhausted.  She looked down to fasten Mjøtuor back to the strap at her chest as she walked, not realizing that Loki had suddenly stopped.  She walked right into his back, her disorientation amplified by someone saying Loki’s name.  How did they know it was him?    
    “Loki,” said a rich baritone voice.  “You are looking well, if not entirely yourself.  You have not been easy to find since the Chitauri attack.”  
    Loki’s palace guard disguise fell away as they were surrounded by more than half a dozen _real_ palace guards armed with decidedly sharp-looking spears.  Celia pressed against Loki’s back, peering around him to glimpse the imposing horned helmet and penetrating gaze of the man who had addressed Loki by name.  
    “Heimdall,” Loki said, artificially jovial.  “One can’t be too careful.”  
    “Then you’ll have no objection returning with me to the palace.  For your safety, of course,” said Heimdall wryly.    
    “Is that why you’ve come so heavily armed?” Loki asked with mock confusion, looking around at the squad of guards.  He disdainfully shoved aside the tip of a spear that pressed against his chest.  “For my _safety?_ ”  
    “The Queen has been beside herself with worry over your safety, Loki,” Heimdall reproached him.  
    “And Odin?  Does he weep in anxious anticipation of my safe return?”  
    Heimdall glanced to either side and nodded once.  “You may ask him yourself.  The Allfather is eager to have a word with you.”  
    “Oh, I’ve no doubt he has several,” Loki replied with a smug smile.  He reached back and pushed Celia away from him just before two guards stepped forward and secured heavy manacles around Loki’s wrists.  
    “Wait, stop!” Celia cried, trying her best to intervene.  She wasn’t nearly strong enough and the Asgardians completely ignored her.  It was like they didn’t even notice she was there.  
    Loki made no move to stop the guards from shackling him, nor did he acknowledge Celia’s efforts to stop them.  He merely inclined his head in her direction and muttered, “With such an entourage, I should think _anyone_ could follow us back to the palace, if one were so inclined.”  
    At that, a third guard fastened some sort of muzzle around Loki’s mouth, and he could no longer speak.  He and Heimdall stared each other down for a long moment before Heimdall turned and gestured for the guards to follow with Loki.  
    Celia was pretty sure Loki’s remark had been a not-so-cryptic instruction to her.  She wondered if he’d perhaps diverted his magical energies from disguising his own appearance to concealing hers.  None of the guards had so much as acknowledged her existence.  Well, in any case, what choice did she have but to follow?  Simultaneously terrified and resolute, Celia hoped beyond hope that Loki had some sort of plan and that she was doing her part to jog behind the cluster of guards escorting Loki through the streets.

* * *

  
    Celia managed to slip through a series of checkpoints and fortified gates by dodging between the guards as the group ascended to the palace.  She was definitely invisible to them, and she was definitely doing what Loki had asked her to do.  Every so often she would catch his eye and he would nod almost imperceptibly.  She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do once they got in -- were they going to throw Loki into a dungeon?  Did he expect her to follow him there?  Was she supposed to help him escape, somehow? -- but this was better than being stranded in Asgard without Loki, she supposed.  
    Once within the palace complex, the guards marched Loki up to a nondescript door that Heimdall held open as they went inside.  Celia tried to duck under Heimdall’s arm to follow, when the formidable gatekeeper brought his hand down heavily on her shoulder.    
    “It seems we have a stowaway,” he said, leading her inside the small circular room and slamming the heavy door shut.  The click of locks echoed ominously in the high-ceilinged room.  “No need to spend yourself concealing her presence, Loki.  I see her.”  
    Loki must have complied with Heimdall’s suggestion, because a few of the guards looked startled by Celia's presence among them.  
    As Heimdall gazed down at her, his eyes seemed to disappear behind a miniature, swirling galaxy.  “You don’t belong here,” he said quietly.  “But neither do you belong there.”  He blinked slowly, the golden color of his eyes returned, and he turned to Loki.  “What have you done, Loki?  What mischief is this?”  
    Unable to answer through the muzzle, Loki merely shrugged.   
    Celia, ever more reckless than wise, spoke up.  “Loki saved me from the Chitauri when they attacked me back home.”  
    “Did he, now?” said Heimdall with exaggerated interest, as if speaking to a child.  “How chivalrous of you, Loki.  And unselfish, I’m sure.”  
    Three echoing knocks made Celia jump and interrupted the defense she was prepared to mount for Loki.  One of the guards opened a door -- not the door they had used to enter, but another that seemed to lead deeper inside the palace -- and conferred quietly with a towering blond man who spoke in a deep voice.  He had the biggest biceps Celia had ever seen and she recognized him from the pictures on the internet, and from her visions of Loki’s past.  Only this Thor looked a good deal more worn out.  His bright blue eyes were heavy with dark circles and the corners of his mouth turned down.  He looked past the guard to Loki with a weary expression, and then turned and walked away.  
    “They are ready for him in the throne room,” the guard informed Heimdall.  
    “Take him,” Heimdall said with a wave of his hand.  A guard shoved Loki roughly through the door and Celia moved to follow them when Heimdall stood in front of her like a sentry.  “Not you.  We have some matters to discuss, you and I.”  
    Celia backed away from Heimdall, her eyes wide with fear.  “I don’t think we do,” she declared, trying to sound brave.    
    “I won’t hurt you,” he assured her.  “I only want to know where you got that locket.”  
    “Why should I tell you?”  
    “Because I remember the day it was presented to the princess of Vanaheim, and I have not seen her since.”  
    Celia did not like the sound of that.  She knew all too well where this line of questioning could lead.  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “Okay, well, I’ve heard that one before and it nearly got me kidnapped by some crazy dude with a beard.  Oh, and Loki rescued me that time, too,” she added defiantly.    
    “Loki is...not who you think he is,” said Heimdall.    
    “Maybe I’m not who you think I am,” Celia replied.   
    “I may not know _who_ you are,” Heimdall agreed, “but I know _what_ you are.”  
    “And...?”  
    “And, it is dangerous for you to trust Loki.  He is mad for power, for a throne.”  
    Celia shrugged.  “Danger is my middle name.  And anyway, I have no throne to give him.”  
    Heimdall looked grim and heaved a heavy sigh.  “No, not at the moment.  But you have more power than you could even imagine and I fear you know not what he is capable of if it were to fall into his hands.”  
    Another knock reverberated in the chamber, interrupting their little chat.  Celia was grateful because she had no sarcastic comeback prepared and she was starting to take it a little personally that this Heimdall fellow thought her so gullible.  She didn’t want any confirmation of her fear that Loki was merely using her for his own ends.    
    Heimdall opened the door to reveal two guards sent there to collect Celia.  The Allfather wished to see her.  Celia arranged her face into her fiercest scowl and allowed herself to be led by the elbows through a maze of corridors.  
    They could hear the shouting coming from the throne room before they even reached its antechamber, where they waited to be summoned.  
    “If you hadn’t been so careless binding his magic...!”  
    “It was not carelessness!  It was a provision _I made_...!”  
    “And you!  How do you ever expect to be king when you cannot hand down justice without your emotions clouding your judgment?”  
    “Father, I told you, I looked into his eyes and I know it to be true that somehow Loki’s actions on Midgard were not entirely his own, and...”  
    “And you dealt with him leniently because of your brotherly affection for him!”  
    “No, Father, because I want our family to heal, not to be forever torn apart by this.  We are strongest when we are united.”  
    “There is no strength in harboring such treachery as Loki has demonstrated!  Since he discovered he is not of our blood, he has been determined to undermine this family!”  
    “My King, please, have care how you speak.  With all due respect, you cannot take back these blunt words you use to tear down our son -- _your_ son.”  
    “ _My son?_   Ask him!  Ask him if he is my son!”  
    Prolonged silence followed this outcry, with a noxious bitterness that hung heavily in the air.  
    “And where is this girl he is supposed to have rescued?”  
    At this, the guards nudged Celia through the entryway into the throne room and flanked her as she walked, trembling, toward the dais upon which sat the Allfather.  He glared down at Celia with his one good eye.  Everyone in attendance turned to watch her approach, including Loki, who stood alone in chains at the center of the room.  
    The muzzle was gone, but blood dripped from Loki’s nose, pooling in the curves of his lips and staining his chin crimson.  At the sight of this, Celia impulsively broke away from her guards and ran to where he stood.    
    “Loki!” she cried, hurtling herself against him and wrapping her arms around his middle.  He could not return the embrace, as his hands were chained to his waist, so he lowered his cheek to briefly press it against the top of Celia’s head before looking over her to meet Odin’s gaze.  
    “May I present Celia, lately of New York, rightly of Vanaheim,” Loki said complacently.  
    “That remains to be seen,” snapped Odin.  
    Celia knew Loki could feel her shaking against him.  She looked up at him for reassurance and he nodded, giving her a little smile through his bloody nose.  She took a deep breath and turned to face the Allfather.  
    “You seem very well acquainted with Loki,” Odin observed.  
    Celia nodded.  “He saved me from a Chitauri soldier who attacked me in New York.”  
    “And how did he know you required such assistance?”  
    “We aren’t sure,” Celia answered slowly.  “We saw each other in visions before it happened, and then he was just _there_.”  
    “You see,” said a beautiful woman standing with Thor.  Celia recognized Frigga, the queen of Asgard, who turned to Odin and continued with a note of triumph in her voice.  “A noble cause.  I set that provision when I bound his magic.  That it could be freed if he used it for a noble cause.  Because I knew then, as I do now, that there is as yet good in our son.”  
    Thor looked pensive.  “Celia,” he began reluctantly, as if he did not want to ask what he was about to ask, “who arrived first, Loki or the Chitauri soldier?”  
    Now it was Odin who looked triumphant.  “Yes!  Likely the Chitauri soldier was there for Loki and not you.  The Other is hunting Loki.  Why would they care about you?  You are nobody.”  
    Celia did not like the way Odin spoke to her, as if she were so inconsequential it was incomprehensible to him that she should matter to anyone.  Her hackles raised, she answered back with petulant sarcasm.  “I don’t know, maybe because _I actually am_ descended from the Vanir princess?  The Chitauri thing went right for my mother’s jewelry box.  It was looking for this,” she held the locket aloft.  Celia was determined to win this battle of wills with the Allfather, and so she conveniently omitted the fact that Loki had also gone right for the jewelry box upon his arrival in New York.  
    When Odin did not reply, Celia continued.  “I know you know what this is.  That Heimdall guy recognized it.  He knows what I am.”  
    Odin pressed his lips into a thin line as he considered this weighty piece of evidence.    
    Loki interjected at this point.  “When the Chitauri attacked in Asgard, I had already brought Celia back here.  It was not my intention to flee Asgard nor to escape my confinement.  After they attacked at the fortress, we went into hiding in the forest, and we were making our way back here to the palace in disguise when we were so fortunate to have Heimdall find us.”  
    Thor joined Loki and Celia at the center of the room.  “Mother corroborates Loki’s claim that his magic returned to him involuntarily for the sake of helping this girl, and here she stands as irrefutable proof of it.  What is more, he may have saved a powerful magical artifact from falling into the hands of our enemy.  And he put up no resistance when Heimdall went to retrieve him.  I see no crime here, Father.  Please...”  
    Odin looked at Frigga.  She nodded once, then crossed the room to stand in front of Loki.  She reached up and cradled his face in her hands before taking the silken hem of her luxurious sleeve and tenderly wiping the blood from his face.  
    With a disgruntled huff, Odin said, “Very well.  No _new_ crime has been committed, therefore Loki will not be subject to _further_ punishment.  _However_ , his house arrest has not been lifted, and he will resume that sentence here in the palace.  Take him to a suite of rooms in the secure corridor of the west wing.”  
    “And Celia?” inquired Frigga.  
    “As a distant member of the house of Vanaheim, she will be treated with the respect and courtesy due to one of our sister race.  She is obviously in immanent danger, and we extend to her sanctuary here in the palace,” Odin reluctantly offered.  He fixed his stare coldly on Celia.  “I cannot guarantee your safety unless you submit to a high security detail.  You will likewise be kept under guard in the west wing, until matters with the Chitauri are settled and it is safe for you to return home.”  
    “So I’m under house arrest, too?” Celia asked.  
    “I did not say house arrest.  You are here seeking asylum and it is my duty as Allfather to provide it.  For now, it must be thus, for your protection and ours.”  Odin motioned to his captain of the guard.  “Put her in rooms near Loki’s so you can consolidate your men.  We have few to spare at present.”  
    Frigga turned to Celia with an encouraging smile and smoothed the girl’s matted hair before putting an arm around her shoulders to lead her out of the throne room.  It was such a gentle, motherly gesture that Celia’s heart ached.  “It won’t be so bad,” Frigga promised her.  “I’ll see to it that you don’t get lonely.  And my ladies will tend to your every need.  First, we must find you something proper to wear and get you a good night’s rest.”  
    “I like Loki’s shirt,” Celia said, clutching her arms to herself protectively.  
    Frigga laughed.  “I am sure he won’t mind if you keep it.”  
  



	15. The Secret Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, wanting a thing can make it true.

* * *

Pride can stand a thousand trials  
The strong will never fall  
But watching stars without you  
My soul cries  
-Des’ree, “Kissing You,” 1996

    “Were it not for the behest of your mother and brother, I would have cast you out back to the frozen rock from whence you came,” Odin cooly informed Loki once Frigga and Celia were out of earshot.  
    Loki gave no response.  He had learned over the years that the best way to weather his father’s tantrums was to not prolong them with interruptions.  
    Thor, however, was aghast at his father’s cruelty.  “Surely you do not mean...to _Jotunheim?_   You would banish him to Jotunheim?”  
    “He insists on behaving like a barbarian, I can only assume his Jotun nature asserts itself and that he is incapable of living amongst the civilized here in Asgard,” replied Odin acidly.  
    “He is no more Jotun than I!” shouted Thor.  Then, realizing his mistake, he said to Loki under his breath, “You know what I mean.”  
    “You, who were not so long ago _banished to Midgard_ as punishment for his own barbarism against the Jotuns?” Odin shouted back.  “What have I done to deserve two such unworthy sons?”  
    Thor scowled.  “I made my peace,” he reminded his father.  
    “So you did,” agreed Odin.  “Now let us hope Loki can make his.”  
    With that, the Allfather waved his hand to indicate that Thor should escort his brother away.   
    “He’s still angry,” said Thor after a long awkward silence.  
    “Well spotted,” retorted Loki.  He knew he should be grateful for his brother’s support but he could barely contain his resentment.  He felt as ineffectual as a child, standing there in silence while his father and brother argued about him.  He didn’t need Thor’s intersession.  The god of thunder only acted out of guilt.  Thor believed he should have saved Loki from falling into the abyss, and he now did everything in his power to make amends for all that had happened since.   
    “Father will move past his anger soon enough,” Thor continued.  “He will.  If I can forgive you for trying to kill me...”  
    “Which time?” Loki interrupted with a snide smile.  He held out his arms to be unshackled.    
    “Loki, don’t,” warned Thor.  Which time, indeed.  Thor rarely spoke of what had transpired in New York.  He could not explain how or why but he somehow felt sure that Loki had not been acting entirely of his own volition.  However, the events that occurred during Thor’s banishment to Midgard and the brothers’ catastrophic fight on the Rainbow Bridge were more difficult to excuse.  Thor was deeply sympathetic to Loki’s emotional trauma over the unceremonious discovery of his true parentage, but it could not be ignored that animosity between them had been simmering for some time.  Loki learning he’d been adopted from the Jotuns was simply the catalyst that had ignited a lifetime of ill-will, pent up beneath the surface for a thousand years.    
    But his family meant everything to Thor, and he was willing to put it all in the past for the sake of familial harmony moving forward.  He took his newfound role as family peacekeeper very seriously, and he found it rather ironic that for once, he felt more aligned with Frigga than with Odin.  His entire life, Thor had been every inch his father’s son.  Now he and his mother were united to bridge the schism between Odin and Loki because they were both too stubborn to concede an inch to the other.  Perhaps Loki was more like his adopted father than he knew.  
    “Get some rest,” Thor said.  “We have much to discuss tomorrow.”  
    “Oh, good,” Loki replied caustically.  “You know how I love our little chats.”  
    Thor looked as though he wanted to say more, but instead he sighed heavily and walked away.  It had been a long few days.  They could resume shouting at each other after they all got some sleep.  
    “Where’s Celia?” Loki called after him.  
    Thor paused and looked over his shoulder.  “Lady Celia is safe.  She’s across the hall.”  
    Loki glared at the guards flanking the door across from his.  “I want to see her.”  
    “Not tonight.”  
    “ _When?_ ”  
    Thor continued down the corridor.  “We will discuss things tomorrow.”    
    

* * *

  
    Celia wanted to relish the mothering she was shown by Frigga on the way to the west wing, but she kept her distance.  It felt disloyal to her own mother to relax under Frigga’s gentle embrace and kind words.  The Queen gave Celia a tour of her rooms, introduced her to the two maids who would be available to assist with dressing, meals, and assorted errands, and promised that the next afternoon they would walk together in the park.  Celia just wanted to go to sleep, and she went through the motions of nodding and saying thank you until Frigga bid her goodnight and she was alone with the maids.    
    It was a new experience for Celia to be undressed and bathed by strangers.  Asta and Gerd, however, were in no mood to dawdle at such a late hour, and deftly stripped Celia out of her dingy leather pants and green shirt before she could form a coherent protest.  They were efficient, at least, and in no time at all Celia’s skin was glowing, clean and smooth and rosy.  Her hair was combed through and woven into a loose braid that flipped over one shoulder.  
    The nightgown the maids had dressed her in was, in Celia’s opinion, patently ridiculous.  The empire-waist bodice laced tightly over Celia’s chest and gave way to a gauzy, body skimming gown that reached nearly to the floor.  How was she supposed to sleep in this thing?  She could barely breathe in it.  Although, she was grateful it was laced so tightly once she moved around and found that the thin, dainty straps kept falling off her shoulders.  _Ugh!  Ridiculous thing!_    She resigned herself to shallow breathing.  It wasn’t so bad if she kept pretty still.  
    But once Asta and Gerd tucked Celia into bed and left her for the night, the tight bodice began to close in on her rib cage and she felt like she was literally suffocating.  Sitting in the middle of this strange, massive bed, alone for the first time in days, the reality of things began to squeeze out all of her bravery and resolve.  Celia started to cry.  
    She cried because she missed her parents, first and foremost.  She missed the comforting ease of her former life from before the accident.  Always, she missed her parents, and all the security they represented.  Beneath her Super-Celia bravado, she felt so vulnerable in the world, now more than ever.  
    She cried in frustration, of holding in her possession a means to correct this cosmic injustice, yet unable to use it to that end.  Or, to use it properly at all, really.  
    She cried from fear, of now being at the mercy of an angry and powerful king who clearly regarded her as a nuisance at best, a threat at worst.    
    She cried out of the sheer overwhelming knowledge that her identity now spanned millennia, spanned _realms_ , and her easy, comfortable former life had suddenly spilled across space and time like a glass of water poured into an ocean.  It had disappeared into the vastness, swept into the ebb and flow of tides that drew her to the beaches of unfamiliar places.  
    And, she cried because she missed Loki.  For all her doubts about whether she should trust him, deep down she _wanted_ to.  She felt safe with him.  He was the only familiar and comforting thing in this alien place.  They had not spent a night apart since the first night he brought her to Asgard, and she felt so profoundly alone without him here now.  She tried to console herself by thinking about waking up in Loki’s arms in the forest, drifting off to sleep with him at the inn, the way he had looked at her when he gave her the glass flower crown.  “It matches your eyes,” he’d said.    
    Abruptly, Celia got out of bed and crept across the dark bedroom into the dressing room where Asta had folded her clothes on a shelf.  She’d refused to let the maids take anything out of her sight, so nothing had been sent to the laundry.  Mjøtuor, still attached to the pauldron strap, lay on top of the green shirt.    
    Moving the locket aside, Celia gathered the shirt into her arms, sank to the floor in a cloud of diaphanous apricot-colored silk, and resumed her cry.  She ugly-cried, with great gulping sobs and a streaming nose she elected to wipe on the hem of her stupid nightgown.  Presently, a guard rushed into the room to investigate the noise.  
    “Go away!” Celia sobbed into the shirt.  
    “Do you require aid, Lady Celia?” he asked, alarmed.  
    “Where’s Loki?” she demanded, trying to sound imperious but failing thanks to her sniffles.  
    “He is not permitted visitors tonight,” the guard said apologetically.  
    Celia looked at him, furious.  “Then just _go away_.”  
    The guard hesitated.  His heart went out to this poor weeping girl.  He was battle-hardened and fierce, but he also had five sisters back home, and his broad shoulders had provided their share of comfort to tearful damsels.  But he’d also learned from his five sisters that sometimes a lady needs space to have her cry in peace, and he wisely judged this particular moment as such.  He backed away slowly, assuring Celia that they were just outside if she needed them, and left her to her tears.  
    Getting off the floor and laying in bed felt impossible.  She was afraid of being alone with her thoughts in that big empty bed, as though it were a manifestation of the emotional agoraphobia that had swept her into this crying jag.  She just wanted to be held tight by something more comforting than this horrid nightgown.    
    She wanted Loki.  He was comforting.  He protected her.  And Celia liked to think she had Loki’s back, too, if he ever needed her.  Like when she stuck up for him earlier, with Heimdall.  That guy had some nerve telling her that Loki wasn’t who she thought he was.  Like Celia hadn’t been in Loki’s past?  Like she hadn’t been there in _Loki’s own head?_   She knew Loki.  And they had each other’s backs.  It just felt wrong to be separated at a time like this.   
    After a few minutes, Celia found that she had cried herself out.  Rather, her sobs had subsided into a terrible case of hiccups.  _Fine, that’s even more absurd than crying_.  The hiccups were so sharp and deep they hurt her belly.  The tight laces constricting her ribcage probably didn’t help.    
    “Seelie?” a voice whispered.  “Are you alright?”  
    Celia sat bolt upright and started to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth.  Her eyes focused on Loki’s pale face in the darkness.  
    “ _Shhhhhhh_ ,” he shushed, taking his hand away and settling cross legged in front of her on the floor.  
    “Loki!” she whispered fiercely.  “What the hell?  You scared me half to death!  How did you get in here?”  
    “Were you crying?” he asked.  
    “I...hey, my hiccups are gone.  You scared them away,” she smiled.  
    “Why are you lying on the floor?”   
    “I dunno,” she said, sitting up.  “The bed was too big.  Is there anything you can do about that?”  
    This request took Loki slightly aback.  He hadn’t really intended to stay longer than a moment, just to check on Celia, but he found himself saying, “For a little while.”  He stood, and before Celia could move to follow him, he reached down and scooped her off the floor.    
    “Lo?” she asked quietly as he placed her on the bed.  
    “Mmhmm?” he murmured as he climbed in next to her.  
    “I hate this stupid nightgown.”  
    “Oh?”  Loki was not expecting such a declaration, and wasn’t sure what to say.  He found it rather lovely, but would never admit such a thing to Celia.  
    “I can’t breathe,” Celia clarified.  “It’s too tight.”  
    “ _Oh_.  Yes, that...seems uncomfortable.”  Loki hesitated for a moment before he put his arms around Celia and worked free the double-knotted ribbon at the back of the bodice.  “Your maids are certainly thorough,” he joked, trying to mask his nervousness at performing such an intimate task as he struggled to untie the laces.  
    Celia gave a deep sigh of relief once the pressure on her chest was released.  She didn’t even care that the thing threatened to fall from her shoulders at the slightest movement.  She didn’t plan on moving any more that night.  She was exhausted and Loki was there now and she just wanted to have a good long sleep.    
    The two wordlessly fell into a comfortable embrace, Loki laying on his back with Celia sprawled along his side using his chest as a pillow.  The soft material of his robe felt nice against her cheek and she nuzzled against him, wiping away her tears.  Loki let his arm drape around her and absently wound her braid through his fingers.  The steady rise and fall of his breath lulled Celia to calmness, if not sleep.    
    “Are you alright?” Loki asked again.  
    Celia wasn’t sure if he was asking about before or if he was asking about right now.  She decided to answer for right now, and nodded her head slightly.  “How did you get in here?”  
    “The secret tunnels,” Loki said.  
    “That doesn’t make any sense.  Why would Odin put us under house arrest in rooms with unguarded secret tunnels?”  
    “He doesn’t know they exist,” Loki explained.  “This wing of the palace was built to be defensible if we were ever under heavy attack.  The family could retreat here.  Everything is fortified -- bars on all the windows and a portcullis that can be lowered to block entry to this wing.  And there are secret tunnels connecting the rooms along this corridor, and down to the armory, and out of the palace.  Otherwise it wouldn’t be a very good place to retreat.  You’d be trapped.”   
    “That makes sense,” Celia agreed.  “But why wouldn’t Odin know about the secret tunnels in his own palace?”  
    “Because he’s arrogant.  He’s never thought of retreat in his life.  I doubt he’s ever so much as looked in these rooms.  I discovered the tunnels when I was a boy.  Trying to hide from Thor and his friends, or my father’s tirades, or perhaps just to be alone, I can’t remember.  But these rooms are hardly ever used.  I can think of fewer than half a dozen times.  They have mostly been glorified guest rooms for diplomatic visitors requiring a little _extra attention_.  Like you,” he squeezed her shoulder.   
    “Odin thinks I’m a problem,” Celia said, not sure if she was asking or stating it as fact.  
    “Yes,” Loki replied.  The gentle circles he drew on her bare back with his fingertips would have been immensely, deliciously distracting if they’d been talking about anything else.  
    But it seemed to Celia a heady thing, that the king of Asgard considered her dangerous enough to keep under guard.    
     _Dangerous?_  
    Celia found herself thinking again of her conversation with Hemidall.  _Dangerous._    
     _It is dangerous for you to trust Loki.  He is mad for power, for a throne._  
 _I have no throne to give him._  
    But that wasn’t exactly true, was it?  If her great-grandmother had been _the_ princess of Vanaheim, and Celia was her last living descendent...    
    Loki sighed contentedly, distracting Celia from such thoughts.  He turned towards her, sliding his hand into the open back of her nightgown.  His fingers found the grooves of her ribs as if they were pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together.  It felt so good, and suddenly that made Celia uneasy.  She’d known Loki less than a week.  He was over a thousand years old.  He was kind of responsible for leading an alien invasion of New York City.  It was ludicrous for her to take these moments at face value.  Loki had an agenda, that had been clear from the beginning.  She couldn’t let herself be lulled by his touch, no matter how good it felt.  He may be someone she could count on to protect her, but he had a pretty vested interest in keeping her around, and it wasn’t because her eyes matched some trinket he’d bought her at the market.  
    With a silent sob, Celia turned away from Loki so he would not feel the warm tears that began to silently slide down her cheeks.  Because she realized now that it would surely break the remaining pieces of her heart, pulverize them to dust, if Loki betrayed her for the locket.  Or if he was using her for something more, like Vanaheim.  But it would just as surely break her heart to treat him like such things were a forgone conclusion.  She simply couldn’t bring herself to extinguish the small hope that Loki had it in him to genuinely care for her.  As if wanting a thing so much could make it true.

* * *

  
    He shouldn’t be here.  He hadn’t meant to come here tonight.  He only meant to stay a moment.  
    But she was crying.  
    Loki had heard commotion in the corridor, so he leaned close to the door and listened.  
    “The rooms are secure.  She’s just...she’s crying,” said one of the guards.  
    “For what reason is she crying?” asked another.  He sounded irritated.  
    “She wouldn’t say.  She only asked for _him_.”  
    “ _Oh_.  That’s...” the guard trailed off.  “Do you think they are...?”      
    A few of them snickered, and one said something extremely lewd about Celia.  
    Loki vowed to cause that particular guard a good deal of pain just as soon as he was able.  
    “Well, she must simply cry alone tonight because we’re to keep them apart until the Allfather has decided what’s to be done with her,” Loki heard one of them say.  
    At this, Loki turned and stalked to the fireplace.  The mantel was carved with wonderfully intricate knotwork that wound underneath the cornice and extended down the side pilasters like clinging ivy.  He ran his hands over the carvings, feeling his way to a familiar section hidden on the underside.  
    As a boy, when he had secreted himself away these rooms, Loki would lay before the fireplace and stare at the interwoven lines for so long they seemed to writhe in the light and shadows.  But it had taken many months before he noticed that in one section, on the underside of the cornice, way at the back, was a stylized eagle hidden among the knotted lines.    
    Upon investigation of the other rooms in the wing, Loki had found that they each had this detail carved on the underside of the mantel.  He’d supposed they were an artisan’s mark, perhaps slipped into the design by the carver as a signature so he wouldn’t be forgotten to posterity.  Loki developed an odd camaraderie with this imagined artisan and began to regard the eagle as a friend of sorts, naming it Hraesvelg after the mythic eagle who beats his wings from the heavens and creates the winds.    
    Before leaving the rooms and returning to his duties in the main parts of the palace,   
young Loki had taken to brushing the carved eagle with his fingers for fortitude and luck.  And then, one day, a particularly dreadful one that had left him feeling so superfluous and so alone, his fingers lingered on Hraesvelg longer than usual.  He wished fiercely that Hraesvelg could be real, that they were really friends, and that the eagle could fly Loki away with his giant wings, to bring him somewhere he felt at peace.  
    And Loki had been quite taken aback when a panel of the floor to the right of the fireplace had slid back with a soft hiss, revealing a staircase that led into darkness.  
    His natural inclination toward curiosity would not allow Loki to take any course of action but to conjure a bit of light that he cupped in his hands as he descended the stairs and found himself in some sort of tunnel.  It led to a larger pathway that seemed to run parallel beneath the corridor above, with smaller tunnels branching off to stairs that corresponded to the suites of rooms lining the west wing.  Loki explored one and found that carved Hraesvelg eagles appeared in the walls of all the stairwells and, if pressed, allowed entry into those rooms via sliding panels.    
    Over time, Loki had thoroughly explored each of those tunnels and made good use of them.  He discovered that the armory was accessible through them, as well as a way out of the palace he’d never seen before.  That particular feature of the tunnels came in handy over the years.  
    He never mentioned the discovery to anyone, lest he be banned from what had become his most treasured secret hiding spots.  And the way people discussed the west wing -- if they mentioned it at all, which was seldom -- it was clear to Loki that no one else knew about the tunnels.     
    Which was why he was now perfectly content to be placed in the west wing to serve the remainder of his house arrest.  It was perhaps a slight rent in the fabric of his plan that everyone was now aware of the existence of Celia and Mjøtuor, but it certainly served the grand scheme of things to have such easy access to Odin’s vault.    
    And to Celia.  Because she was crying and she asked for him.  So he went to her.  
    He knew that he shouldn’t.  He knew that it was only going to make it harder when he betrayed her, in the end.  But in his mind the foregone conclusion of betrayal had turned from a thing of self-interest into one of self-sacrifice.  He lay with Celia in her bed, basking in the warmth of her body pressed against his and twirling his fingertips in languid circles on the creamy skin of her back as they lapsed into a sleepy silence, and he was struck by the realization that this was going to be painfully difficult to lose.  Because in that moment, he felt so peaceful.     
    Loki smiled in the darkness when he realized that Hraesvelg had, at last, winged him to somewhere he felt at peace.  _Thank you, old friend_ , he thought as he drifted off to sleep.  
  



	16. The Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Celia meets the Lady Sif.

* * *

“Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit;

unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.”

Peter S. Beagle, _The Last Unicorn_ , 1968

 

    Loki’s eyes fluttered open and he promptly squeezed them shut again, willing time to stop.  The suffused light of the approaching dawn softened the edges of the room, making it seem like a dream or a sweet memory.  But it was real, and the light meant he needed to get back to his own room before the servants brought breakfast.    
    For just ten seconds more, he was going to pretend that this bed was the only thing that existed in the nine realms.  
    Somehow in the course of their sleep, he and Celia had shifted around so that now she was stretched across the bed on her back and Loki had curled into a ball at her side.  His arms were wrapped tightly around her hips, his face buried against her ribs.  Celia had her fingers wound through his hair, cradling his head against her.  The familiarity of this gesture made Loki feel so intensely content he could scarcely believe that he _didn’t_ have the power to stop time and dwell forever in the simple bliss of this moment.  It was such a powerful feeling, such perfect contentment.  The feeling that for once he wouldn’t change a single thing about the moment except for the fact that it _would_ eventually have to change and move on to something else.    
    And it would have to in ten seconds.  Loki stretched his hand across Celia’s soft belly and watched it rise and fall as he counted out ten beats from the syncopation of her heartbeat and breath.  Then, he forced himself to sit up, moving slowly so he wouldn’t disturb her, tilting his head to gently release her fingers from his hair.  
    Celia stirred and sighed heavily.  _No, don’t wake!_   Breaking away from this perfect moment would be a thousand times more difficult if he had to speak to her.  Loki wasn’t sure he could make himself leave if she said his name, if she asked him to stay.  He froze, watching Celia until she resettled, then carefully eased himself off the bed and tucked the blankets around her, taking his time to prolong the moment and to memorize the serene slight-smile she wore on her sleeping face.    
    Loki couldn’t help but wonder how a creature so fragile and fleeting could be so profoundly alluring.  Celia’s pale skin was brightened by a scattering of golden freckles that had sprung up across her cheekbones from all their time outdoors.  He had noticed they seemed to glow when she flushed.  Her rosy, full lips were a little chapped, but it somehow made them all the more lovely.   Not a hothouse flower, cultivated to perfection, but a wild, beautiful thing.  Loki reached out and gently brushed her freckles, then touched his finger to her lips.  Celia pursed her smile in response, as if to kiss him, but she did not wake.  
    He straightened, knowing he should leave but unable to resist one last touch, half hoping now that it would rouse her and she would beg him to stay a little longer.  So far, he hadn’t often been able to say no to Celia, but he felt like he needed the practice.  Reverently smoothing from Celia’s forehead the stray wavy locks that had escaped from her braid, twisting them lightly around his fingers, it occurred to Loki that his habit of wending his fingers through Celia’s hair was merely the smallest expression of his desire to be enveloped entirely by it.  Her hair was golden and glorious, like pure sunshine.  
    What had Urðr prophesied to him about sunbeams and desire?  _It was a ridiculous riddle_ , he insisted to himself.  
    Still, there was something inherently vibrant about Celia, a sunbeam personified, and try as he might, Loki could not deny that he had come to crave the warmth Celia shone on him.  
    Of course, there were beautiful women in Asgard.  Loki had enjoyed time with a few of them over the years.  But Asgardian beauty was heavy with a cold sort of gravitas.  If their beauty was stone, Celia’s was air -- light and warm, the promise of a perfect summer day.    
     _Perfect summer days are ephemeral_ , Loki reminded himself.  She would grow old and die in a mere heartbeat, if something didn’t break her frail human body first.    
    Loki drew his hands away from Celia’s hair and balled them into fists, tight with anxiety at the thought of something hurting her.  And then he remembered, _he_ would hurt her.  He had to.  There was no possible outcome here that would not be painful.  _All for the chance to control time_ , he thought.  _That sort of power is worth the price._  
    Only, he wasn’t entirely convinced that was true any more, and had to work very hard to persuade himself to believe it.  _The price -- a peaceful interlude with this human girl that will be over in the blink of an eye.  It’s nothing_ , he repeated as he reluctantly crept out of the room.  _It’s nothing.  You stand to lose her in any case.  Might as well keep her from Death’s wrath and have the locket as a consolation prize._  
    This had all been so much easier when Loki had been counting on Celia to despise him once she had learned of his past, to absolve him of the responsibility of her affection.  But...she didn’t despise him.  And he would have to wound them both to see his plan to its successful conclusion.  He had no other choice.  He couldn’t give up everything for an interlude.  
    Could he?  
    “Bye, Lo,” he heard Celia say quietly to his back.  
     Loki paused but did not turn to look at her.  “Goodbye,” he murmured, wielding the word like a brick in the wall he was frantically building around this disastrous affection for her.  
    “Come back tonight?”  
    And the wall came tumbling down.  “Of course.”

* * *

  
    Back in his own rooms, Loki threw himself on the bed and ran his hands through his hair, holding the back of his head, trying to hold on to the warmth of Celia’s touch.  He felt sleepy and a little punch-drunk, blindsided by the heady realization that moments of delirious happiness could be delivered to him by something as unexpected as the affection of a human girl.  He stretched out and gave himself over to basking in the afterglow of it.  
    She had called him “Lo” again, which he found entirely disarming.  No one had ever called him that before.  Loki had been given many nicknames over the years -- most of them not exactly terms of endearment.  This was different.  It felt intimate for Celia to call him by a nickname she gave him and that she alone used.    
    Loki had fallen into the habit of referring to her as “Seelie” to himself, but when he addressed her, he very conscientiously put distance between them by using her proper name.  Except sometimes when he wasn’t careful, “Seelie” just tumbled out, as natural as breathing.  The conscientious distance was rapidly closing in Loki’s mind, and these abbreviated nicknames seemed to acknowledge all that was evolving unspoken between them.  As if they were so attuned to one another, their full names were superfluous.  
    Loki dwelled in the memory of the morning until he caught himself wondering too much about whether Celia enjoyed playing with his hair as much as he enjoyed hers.  Did it tickle the delicate skin on the inside of her wrist when she held the back of his head? And were her little shivers when his hands stroked the bare skin on her back exposed by the unlaced nightgown from the pleasure of his touch?  _This is too much_.  Mooning wasn’t really his style.  It was time to reel it back in.  
    With a sigh of frustration, Loki scrambled off the bed to pace the room with a discontented air.  There had to be a way to get the locket from Celia, to protect her from her own mad plan to cross Death, and to preserve whatever _this_ was, whatever was happening between them.  There had to be a way other than outright betraying her.  Did she trust him enough that he might simply reason with her?  Because, even though Loki was painfully aware of how fleeting an interlude with Celia would certainly be, he could no longer deny that it meant something to him now.    
    Loki felt that he could live another thousand years on the five or six decades of perfect contentment he would have if he woke up every morning as he had today, with Celia’s fingers caressing the nape of his neck because she wanted him close to her.  Perhaps _because_ it was so achingly fleeting, it meant something to him.  He needed to absorb that powerful, peaceful bliss while he had the chance.  Celia’s very impermanence made her a precious thing that Loki suddenly felt totally unwilling to forgo.  And he was already running out his time with her.*   

    While the gentle, dim light of dawn gave way to a morning as clear and golden as the pang of a bell, Loki resolved to find a way to have both Celia and Mjøtuor.  For all his noble posturing to himself about wanting to protect her, Loki believed himself to be by nature a selfish creature, and he simply couldn’t fathom giving up the unexpected power he’d discovered in this interlude.  The power to control time was an external sort of power, one that would bring him the fear and respect of others.  But the strength he gleaned from Celia, the heartfelt way she had asked for him, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him, chipped away at Loki’s self-loathing like he never thought possible.  
    Could he talk her out of this impossible quest to take back her parents?  That seemed unlikely.  She was determined to see this through, desperate to reunite her family.  That he could probably just be honest with her about everything simply did not occur to Loki.  His fluency in the language of truth was poor, and he did not like feeling at a disadvantage so it was one he rarely used.  Maybe he could use Mjøtuor to manipulate time so that Celia would never know of his betrayal?  
    But, no.  For some reason, that did not sit well with Loki either.  It was the same reason that rendered him completely uninterested in using Mjøtuor to alter his past misdeeds in any way.  Everything that transpired after such an alteration to time would feel artificial.  He would know that it wasn’t _real_.  Celia’s affection for him would be manufactured by him, and his power in Asgard would be hollow because no one would have distrusted him in the first place.  There was some petulant part of Loki that wanted to be the recipient of the love and respect he craved in spite of his worst proclivities, not because they had never happened.  If everything was just going to be a neater version of what it was before, what was even the purpose of _having_ that kind of power?  
    At no point in his rumination did Loki consider that he maybe loved Celia for her own sake.  Love belonged to the vocabulary of truth, and it was a word he felt incapable of associating with any real meaning.  In Loki’s understanding of things, he simply liked how it made him feel that she cared for him.  He liked that he was so important to her.  It made him feel powerful that someone so lovely and so evanescent would spend her brief devotion on him.  He wanted to possess that power in the same way that he wanted to possess the power of the locket.  
    Loki would find a way to have both.    

* * *

  
    It was late morning when Celia finally woke again.  After Loki left, she had fallen back to sleep and into a terrible nightmare.  In the dream, Celia seemed to have switched places with Loki in a moment from his past -- Celia was being tortured by Thanos as Loki watched helplessly.  Only, unlike her glimpse into Loki’s past, in the dream they were aware of one another’s presence.    
    Mostly because of the screaming.    
    Celia, herself, was beyond screaming.  There was too much pain, she couldn’t draw enough breath to scream.  But all of her agony rang out in Loki’s cries, begging the Mad Titan to stop, to let her go, to take him in Celia’s place.  
    And then, she woke up.    
    She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat.  The peach silk of her nightgown stuck to her torso and the blankets wrapped around her legs like she’d been caught in a net.  
    Her first thought was, _Where’s Loki?_   She looked around, frantic for some sign that he was still there, and his early morning departure came back to her.  He’d promised to see her again tonight.    
    Well, Celia wanted to see him right now, and just let them try to stop her.  
    She hopped out of bed, clutching the unlaced nightgown to her chest,and  resolutely stalked into the sitting room toward the door.  Asta and Gerd sat at a small table in the sitting room, quietly playing a game of cards which they immediately abandoned when Celia entered the room.  
    “Lady Celia, good morning!” Gerd greeted her, coming forward with a soft cream-colored robe and blocking Celia’s path.  “Oh, dear, what happened to your nightgown?”  
    “It was too tight,” Celia said distractedly.  She felt shaken from the dream and was in no mood to be deterred.    
    “Wouldn’t you like some breakfast?” asked Asta, taking Celia’s elbow and gesturing toward a tray set in a little nook by the window.  Now that the curtains were drawn back, Celia saw what Loki meant about the place being fortified.  The windows were crossed with heavy latticed bars that cast strange shadows about the room, like a surrealist jail cell.  
    “Where’s Loki?” Celia asked, wrapping herself in the robe.  
    “Now, Lady Celia, have some breakfast,” Asta scolded.  “The Queen is coming to see you this afternoon and you aren’t even dressed.”  
    “Why can’t I just talk to him?” Celia demanded, evading her maids’ attempts to lead her over to the breakfast tray and darting to the door.  She flung it open, startling the guards in the corridor.  They immediately lined up, shoulder to shoulder, blocking her way out of the room.  
    “I thought I wasn’t under house arrest,” Celia protested, trying to push past them.  
    “It’s for your own protection, and the Allfather has commanded it,” they insisted, restraining her as she attempted to slip by.  
    “Protection from _what?_ ” Celia cried, her voice rising.  “This is _bullshit_.  Why can’t I just _talk to him?_ ”  
    The door across the hall opened.      
    “What is the meaning of this?” Thor demanded, filling the doorway to Loki’s rooms.  He narrowed his eyes at the guards, who had pinned Celia’s arms behind her back and lifted her off her feet to haul her bodily back into her rooms.  She squirmed and wriggled like an angry alligator.  “Take your hands off her at once!”  
    Returned to her own two feet, Celia straightened her robe and crossed her arms, casting a haughty glare at each of the guards and Thor in turn.  “Why can’t I see Loki?  Why won’t you let me speak to him?  I don’t understand what _I’m_ being detained for.  I have rights!”  
    “You are not being detained,” Thor said kindly.  “This is for your own protection.”  
    “Yeah, everyone keeps saying that.  But protection from what, exactly?  From Loki?  Because he is the one _who has been protecting me_ ever since I got here!”  
    “Protecting you from dangers that he brought upon you, himself,” Thor pointed out.  
    “Maybe not.  You don’t know that for sure,” Celia contradicted.  Then she added earnestly, “He’s my friend.  My only friend here.  Please just let me see him.”  
    Thor stepped aside and looked back at Loki, who sat slumped in a chair with a sulky expression on his face.  He was pretending not to listen to the conversation, but Celia wasn’t buying his disinterest for a second.  She knew he was taking in every word.  
    “Why is it so urgent that you speak to him?” Thor asked Celia.    
    “Just imagine how you’d feel if you were thrown into some strange realm and there was only one person there you felt like you could _really trust_.”    
    Celia said this mostly for Loki’s benefit, in reference to their conversation in the alley before Heimdall had apprehended them.  She wanted to let him know that she was still prepared to go ahead with her promise to give him the locket so that he could help her.  She wanted him to know she trusted him to keep his promise to her.  
    So it took Celia somewhat aback when Thor replied, “I do know how it feels.  I know exactly how it feels.  I remember well that despair and I am sorry if we have imposed it upon you by keeping you from your only friend here.”    
    Thor paused and took another long look at his brother, who stubbornly continued to ignore him.  They had not made much progress this morning.  Perhaps it would do Loki some good to have a friend.  He seemed to have little interest in reconnecting with the family, but isolation would surely drive him deeper into his own damaged psyche.  
    And what trouble could Loki really get into right under their very noses, heavily guarded inside the palace?  
    “Very well,” Thor said.  “You may visit with Loki on two conditions.  While you, Lady Celia, are not under house arrest, Loki remains so, and the first condition is that your visits must be supervised by the guards.”  
    “And the second condition?” she asked.  
    “You must allow us to keep Mjøtuor in the armory.”  
    Celia’s eyes flicked to Loki, who almost imperceptibly shook his head once.  She said to Thor, “Mjøtuor is very important to me.  It belonged to my mother.  I don’t know if I like the idea of handing it over to a bunch of strangers.  Can I think it over?”  She would talk to Loki about it when he visited her tonight.  
    Thor nodded.  “It is for your own --”  
    “I know, I know, ‘for my own protection,’ I get it,” Celia interjected, rolling her eyes.  
    “Good.  I hope that you will let us keep you safe, Lady Celia,” Thor said seriously, ignoring her sarcastic tone.  Growing up with Loki had given Thor a lot of practice in ignoring sarcasm.  “I will be away until tomorrow, you may give me your answer then.  And now I must ask you to return to your rooms.”  
    Determined not to leave without getting what she had come for, Celia defiantly sidled past Thor into Loki's room.  Thor furrowed his brow but didn’t stop her from going to the back of Loki’s chair, leaning down and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a fierce embrace.  Loki leaned his head back to her and languidly ran his fingers down the length of her arm.  He clasped Celia’s hand to stop her from letting go of him before he could turn and brush her neck with his lips, whispering, “Bye, Seelie.”  
    Celia smiled.  “Bye, Lo,” she whispered back before scurrying out of the room with an apologetic shrug in Thor’s direction.  
    Thor closed the door behind Celia and turned to his brother.  “Why do I feel like there is more to all of this, Loki?”  
    “Just because you are smitten by that human woman doesn’t mean it happens to us all,” Loki retorted.  
    “No?” Thor challenged.  “What is this, then?  A game?  Have care how you treat her, brother.”  
    “You heard what she said.  We’re _friends_.  She _wants_ to see me.  You think that came about because I have been mistreating her in some way?  I didn’t beat her into trusting me.”  
    “I can see that plainly.  I only caution you to continue behaving in whatever manner that has caused her to believe you are a trustworthy friend.  I know you, Loki.  I know how you can manipulate.  Do not misuse her for your own ends.”  
    Loki made no response to this warning, so Thor changed the subject back to the topic they had been discussing before Celia’s interruption.  “While I am in Midgard, I will be speaking to S.H.I.E.L.D. about the reparations you are expected to perform.”  
    Loki swung his long legs onto the table, tipped back in his chair and gave a nonchalant laugh.  “Oh?  Do tell Agent Barton I send my regards.”  
    That was enough for Thor.  He scowled and shoved Loki’s legs off the table.  The chair toppled over and Loki tumbled to the ground.  “I will do no such thing," Thor said with deadly calm.  "And you would do well to have care how you speak of my friends, particularly those whom you have so egregiously ill-used.”    
    Loki glared at his brother from the floor until Thor finally turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Loki alone with his bruised dignity.

* * *

  
    Back in her sitting room, Celia found that the Queen was waiting to take her for a walk in the gardens.  Frigga went across the hall to visit with Loki while Asta and Gerd whisked Celia into her dressing room, in a veritable panic that she had delayed the Queen.  Celia felt slightly contrite about upsetting them and didn’t put up much of a fight when they wrangled her into a dress of pale gray raw silk that draped in asymmetric layers to her feet.  At least it didn’t squeeze her like the nightgown had.  In fact, the gown’s silver engraved breastplate was actually kind of awesome.    
    Soon, Celia was strolling in the impeccably manicured royal gardens with the Queen of Asgard, managing to step on the hem of her own dress only every third pace or so.  
    “I hope you will elect to visit with Loki during your stay here,” Frigga was saying, tactfully avoiding any overt mention of Thor’s conditions to do so.  “It’s good for him to have a friend such as you.  I think he genuinely cares for you.”  
    Celia blushed furiously and tried not to smile.  “You do?  Why?  What did he say?”  
    Frigga laughed.  “Nothing, he was rather hostile about it when I asked.”  
    “Yeah, I’ve noticed that about him,” Celia said.  
    “Don’t let it fool you,” Frigga tucked Celia’s hand into the crook of her elbow.  “Things have not been easy for him.  But don’t let him get away with it either.  He needs a friend.”  
    Celia nodded distractedly.  She was only half-listening, because they had walked around to a part of the garden that overlooked the outdoor training arenas where the warriors of Asgard sparred and practiced with their weaponry.  Celia’s attention was captivated by the action in the center of the sparring ring.  She gaped at an Amazonian woman in skirted armor with a long, brown ponytail that swished as she fought three opponents at once.  
    “Lady Celia... _Celia_ ,” Frigga repeated.  
    “Oh, sorry!” Celia finally exclaimed when she realized Frigga had asked her a question.  “What were you saying?”  
    “I asked if you would like me to send you some books about Vanaheim,” said the Queen, following Celia’s gaze out to the training arena.  “That is the Lady Sif, one of Asgard’s fiercest warriors,” she explained.  
    One of the men sparring with Lady Sif noticed Celia and the Queen watching them.  He paused to dip into a quick bow, crossing his arm over his chest, only to be knocked to the ground by a swift kick that swept his legs out from under him.    
    “Oof!” he grunted, landing on his elbow.  He reluctantly tapped out.  
    “Ooh, sorry!” Celia called to him, drawing the attention of Sif and her other sparring partners.  They all bowed to Frigga before making their way over to see this strange young woman from Midgard who was inexplicably friends with Loki and likely the Princess of Vanaheim.  
    “May I present Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral,” said Frigga.  “This is Lady Celia of...well that is still being sorted out but for now she is our guest.”  
    Sif and the Warriors Three each decorously nodded their heads to Celia.  
    “That was seriously the coolest thing I have ever seen!  You’re like an awesome lady-warrior!” Celia said to Sif.  
    Sif gave her a bewildered smile.  “Thank you for what I believe is a compliment?”  
    “Oh, totally!  I wish I could fight like that.  Everyone here treats me like I’m some delicate flower but I’m pretty tough even if I’m not as strong as all of you. I used to do gymnastics so I’m pretty good at parkour and I even took archery lessons last year!”  Celia held out her arm to proudly display a slight scar on her wrist from a particularly nasty string slap.  
    “Well then, you are an accomplished lady-warrior, yourself!” boomed Volstagg.  “You should join us in our training and Sif can share with you some of her tricks!”  
    “They’re not _tricks_ ,” Sif cut in.  “They are _skills_.  And I would be happy to share them with you, Lady Celia.”  
    Frigga looked from Celia to Sif as though she were about to protest.  
    “Even our Queen is a talented swordswoman,” Hogun offered.  “Perhaps she would also like to join us?”  
    At this, Frigga smiled, and looked pensive for a moment.  “I suppose it would be useful for Celia to learn the basics of how to defend herself here, especially considering that her very life may be under threat now that her identity is known.  However, I'm not sure I ought to join you.  Hogun is far too kind.  You’ll have to ask Lady Sif to show you around a sword.”  
    Sif casually twirled her two blades in graceful arcs over her head and behind her back before sheathing them and saying, “Of course, if you wish to learn.”    
    Celia’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.  “Yes.  Wow.  Oh my god you have to teach me that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My framing of Loki’s interest in Celia by her impermanence comes from the Japanese aesthetic philosophy mono no aware, or sensitivity to the transient beauty of things. A good example of this, from the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, is as follows: “The blossoms of the Japanese cherry trees are intrinsically no more beautiful than those of, say, the pear or the apple tree: they are more highly valued because of their transience, since they usually begin to fall within a week of their first appearing. It is precisely the evanescence of their beauty that evokes the wistful feeling of mono no aware in the viewer.” The term was coined in the Edo period in a literary critique of The Tale of Genji, which is frequently considered the world’s first novel, written by Murasaki Shikibu (a woman!) in the Heian period.


	17. The Tale of Celia and the Naughty Forest Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, everything is adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter in this fic.

* * *

“If cats looked like frogs we’d realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are.    
Style.  That’s what people remember.”  
-Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies, 1992

 

    As it turned out, Celia wasn’t quite strong enough to wield a sword with any measure of control or regard for safety.  After hitting herself in the shoulder pretty hard with the hilt when she tried swinging the blade over her head, she reluctantly conceded defeat on the matter of swords.  Celia was unaccustomed to struggling with athletic activities, and she tried not to show her disappointment.  Fortunately, Hogun, who nearly lost an arm in the exercise, consoled her by suggesting that she try throwing knives instead, and Celia was delighted to find she was actually not bad with throwing knives.  After a little practice, she could usually embed the knife into the target, even if she wasn’t yet able to aim her throws very accurately.  Pleased at his successful tutelage, Hogun insisted that Celia keep the set of knives they had been using.  
    Next, Sif showed Celia some basic defensive maneuvers -- blocks and evasion techniques that used her opponent’s body weight and momentum against him.  With her skirt tucked up into her belt, Celia dodged and rolled around the ring while Fandral and Volstagg simulated attacks.  She accused them of going easy on her, but they assured her that they were much impressed by her agility, particularly when she improvised a move that involved sliding into a split and rolling through Volstagg’s legs when he tried to grab her in a bear hug.    
    However, when Fandral tried to show her some offensive moves, they were all horrified to learn that Celia didn’t even know how to properly throw a punch.   
    “You may only be a tiny human, but use what you have!  Follow through with your shoulder and hips!  Here, use my belly as a target.  Punch me,” Volstagg instructed, patting his prodigious girth.  
    Celia clutched her fists to her chest.  “What?  No!  I am not punching you in the belly!”  
    “Trust me, you won’t hurt him,” Fandral assured her, giving Volstagg a playful knock to the gut.  “He has four wild boars, six pheasants, a side of beef and two caskets of ale stored in that belly.  They will absorb any damage.”  
    Volstagg nodded proudly and patted his middle again, urging Celia to give it a try.  
    “How did you ever spend four days alone with Loki and never throw a single punch?” Sif said wryly.    
    Celia dropped her fighting stance and turned to Sif.  “Hey, come on now.  Loki’s my friend.  And wasn’t he your friend, too, for like, a million years?”  
    “Not quite that many, but yes, he was our friend.  Which is how I know that four days is a long time to pass in his company without throwing a punch.”  
    Up until now, Celia had been having a marvelous time with her new friends, but she didn’t want to hang out with Sif and the Warriors Three if this was just going to devolve into a Loki-bashing session.  She said defensively, “You know, maybe your problem is that you think you know everything about Loki because you’ve known him forever.  Maybe you aren’t giving him a chance to show you who he really is.”  
    “I think I saw enough of the real Loki when he tried to kill Thor,” Sif retorted.  
    “Which time?” added Fandral.  
    Celia couldn’t properly defend Loki without disclosing her excursion into his past, but she couldn’t let this slide.  “Come on, it wasn’t like that,” she said.    
    Sif let out a laugh.  “Is that what he told you?”   
    “No,” Celia said cautiously.  “No, he didn’t tell me anything.  I mean...I just...I can read between the lines.  And anyway, okay so he has made mistakes -- horrible mistakes, I am not arguing that -- but you have to know that he is not a fundamentally bad guy.”  
    “I do not know any such thing, and I question your judgment if you think you know it.”  
    “So that’s it for Loki then?  He’s always just going to be trash to you guys, no matter what he does now, because he didn’t handle things that well when his whole identity collapsed?  No wonder he doesn’t try making amends with any of you!  Why should he?” Celia cried.    
    She was taking this conversation very personally, because she wasn’t just speaking about Loki.  It was exactly how she felt about herself.  It was why changing the past was so important to Celia.  There was nothing she could ever do to atone for those three little words, “I hate you.”  She would never forgive herself for it.  All she could do was hope to do better with her second chance.  If she got one.  
    “Lady Celia, please,” Sif said apologetically, genuinely rueful at causing Celia such upset.  “I do not mean to quarrel with you.  I know that Loki can be as charming as he can be calculating, and that is why I hope you will listen when I say that he is dangerous.  I only advise that you be on your guard.  I would hate to see you become caught up in his mischief.”  
    Celia took a deep breath and nodded.  She knew that there were mountains of baggage between Loki and these four, especially Sif.  Celia stood by what she said, but maybe she was being a little unfair to get so angry, especially after they had all been so nice to her this afternoon.  “I’m sorry.  This has just all been a lot to take in at once.  And Loki has helped me through it.  So whatever kind of asshole he is to you guys, that’s between you, but he is my friend and I’m not just going to say nothing while you all badmouth him.”  
    “Fair enough,” Sif nodded gravely, but a little smile broke through her somber expression.  “Only, a girl must truly find herself in a sorry state of affairs to have Loki Laufeyson as her only friend.  I hope you will consider us your friends here as well.”  
    Celia laughed in spite of herself.  “That would be nice.”  
    “Good.  Now, punch Volstagg in the belly as hard as you can.”  
    

* * *

  
    Odin may have sentenced him to indefinite house arrest, but Loki was beginning to suspect he’d really been given capital punishment, because he was almost certain he would die of boredom any minute now.  No books, no visitors except for Thor and his mother questioning him about Celia, nothing to do except stare at the walls.  They’d even bound his magic again, and he was willing to bet that this time, Frigga had not been able to sneak in any “nobility provision.”    
    Come to think of it, Loki wasn’t sure he believed his mother had done it the first time.  What noble cause had Loki undertaken when his magic began to return?  He’d had every intention of stealing Mjøtuor from Celia then -- hardly a noble gesture.  He thought of it less as stealing now, since she was willing to give it to him and not without something in return.  But in any case, he couldn’t identify a noble impulse in any of his actions of the past several days.  It was entirely self-serving for him to protect Celia from the Chitauri, from Ragnkil, to make her trust him, to take her to the Norns, to help her further her own plans.  
    Loki still wasn’t even sure how he’d traveled to New York in the first place.   
    As much as he tried to wholly resent his mother along with the rest of them, Loki could not help feeling a little grateful for the woman who had taught him everything he knew about magic, the woman who shared her gifts with him to ensure he would have something of his own when Thor seemed to have everything else.  Frigga would never speak against the Allfather’s word, but she always found little hidden ways to make her voice heard.  When she defended Loki’s escape from the island fortress with that story about a provision for noble acts in her binding of his magic, Loki was sure she was telling him in her subtle way that she still had faith in his ability to be noble.    
    Which was touching, but after so many centuries, would it be so terrible for her to just stand up for him outright?  It was all well and good to affirm him in secret ways, but it rang hollow to Loki now that his boredom seemed to echo off the walls of his elegant prison cell.  It seemed as though Frigga also expected him to ultimately fall short of her faith in him.    
    Which made Loki feel like it was pointless to even try.  
    And then he met Celia.  And part of him wanted to keep trying.  
    He spent the better part of a frustrating afternoon testing the new boundaries of his magic, hoping that whatever happened before would happen again, and getting precisely nowhere with any of it.  This worried Loki, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to use the locket if he couldn’t use magic.  He’d intended to have Celia transfer Mjøtuor to him tonight.  After that, she could send it to Odin’s vault as requested.  It would look suspicious if she refused, and Loki could easily take it back when he went to collect the stone.  
    But for now, all he could do was lay on the sofa, tossing an empty cup into the air.  He’d made it into a game, to see how many times he could catch it in a row.  So far, he hadn’t missed even once and was almost at one hundred catches when the maids came in with his evening meal.  He didn’t bother to pause his game until two guards followed, each carrying a large parcel of what appeared to be books.  Loki caught the cup for the ninety-sixth time and set it aside.  
    “These are from the Queen,” one of the guards informed him, dropoing the heavy boxes in the middle of the room.    
    Loki waited until they were gone before inspecting the books.  _So Mother is not leaving me to rot after all_ , he thought, feeling a little guilty for ever thinking that she would.  
    But as he looked at the selection she had sent him, Loki was gripped by resentment again.  They were mostly children’s reading primers and picture books.  It looked like his entire childhood library had been sent to him in these boxes.  Was this some cryptic message from Frigga?  A censure of some kind, intended to instill him with guilt?  _Remember when you were a boy, Loki?  Before we all knew what a monster you really were?_  
    He knocked over one of the boxes in anger and went to the table where his dinner had been set.  Loki wasn’t hungry, but he had nothing better to do and fish stew wasn’t a dish that tended to improve with sitting around getting cold.  He sat and ate, inwardly seething about the indignity of being sent picture books.    
    But his outrage soon burned itself out, and nostalgic recollection of his cherished childhood stories wended its way through his mind like smoke.  Had Frigga sent the one about the girl who tames a giant, furry cat and rides him around causing mayhem?  The cat turns out to be a prince, of course, and after they escape the consequences of their misadventures, the girl marries the shapeshifting cat prince and becomes a shapeshifting cat, herself.  That had always been a particular favorite of Loki’s, when he was just learning to do magic and hoped to one day master shapeshifting like the prince in the story.    
    He wondered if Celia might find the book amusing.  Loki smiled as he pictured himself bringing it to her when he visited tonight, making her laugh when he read aloud the cat noises.  The cat noises had always been the best part.    
    Abruptly, he pushed back from the table and went to the pile of books, digging through it until he found the one he had in mind: _The Tale of Alfhild and the Naughty Skogkatt_.  The fish stew was abandoned in favor of curling up on the floor and flipping through the worn pages.  The moving pictures depicted a laughing girl with long blonde hair that streamed out behind her as the cat darted up the side of a building.  _Alfhild looks a little like Celia_ , he mused.  Well, then.  That settled it.  He would show her the book tonight, do the cat noises, _and_ change the name of the girl from Alfhild to Celia when he read it to her.  Celia couldn’t read Allspeak, so she’d never know the difference.  
    Loki set the _The Tale of Alfhild and the Naughty Skogkatt_ aside and found himself drawn into the treasure trove of happy childhood memories contained in those two boxes of books.  By the time the maids came in to tidy the room for the night and turn down the bed, he’d read almost every one.

* * *

  
    Celia was happy and exhausted at the end of the day when Sif and Fandral walked her back to her room.  They promised to include her in another training session soon, and Celia looked forward to it.  But right now, she was looking forward to a hot bath and something to eat.    
    As she scarfed down her dinner, Celia noticed a few boxes had appeared in the room.    
    “What are those?” she asked Gerd.  
    “The Queen sent you some books, Lady Celia.”  
    “Books?  That was nice of her.”  Celia slurped down the rest of her stew and went to explore the boxes.  She picked up one after another, looking through the pages before reaching back into the box.  “I can’t read any of these.  What language is this?”  
    Gerd peered over her shoulder.  “That is Allspeak, my Lady.”  
    “Allspeak?  Is that your language?  I thought you all just spoke English...although I guess that wouldn’t make any sense...but everyone seems to...”  
    “No, that is the magic of Allspeak,” Gerd explained.  “You hear it in your own language, which we in turn understand when you speak.  But it is not translated so in writing.  The magic is in the spoken word.”    
    Celia pondered this for a moment.  There was so much she felt she’d _never_ understand about the magic of these realms beyond Earth.  Then again, she understood things like molecular biology or post-structuralist theory about as well, so maybe Earth had its own seemingly ineffable magic.  
    “How could someone learn to speak Allspeak if they just hear their own language when it’s spoken to them?” she asked.  
    Now Gerd looked pensive.  She furrowed her brow as she considered Celia’s question.  “I’m sorry, I do not know.  I have never thought of such a thing before.  I’ve never heard of someone who is not a native speaker attempting to learn Allspeak.”  
    Celia nodded, but she was more confused than ever.  Why send her these books she could not read?  She continued to look through them regardless, finding one that included gorgeous pictures of a craggy countryside in lush, saturated hues.    
    “Gerd!  Look at this!  Are these pictures moving?” she exclaimed.    
    Gerd stared at Celia as though she were crazy.  “Um...yes?  Yes, of course they are moving, Lady Celia, why would they not?”  
    Celia stared back at Gerd as though _she_ were the crazy one.  “It’s like _Harry freaking Potter_ ,” she muttered to herself, turning to an image of puffy clouds rolling across a blue sky above an expansive forest.    
    Gerd glanced at the picture.  “No, it’s Vanaheim, my Lady.  It’s a book about the geography and natural history of Vanaheim.”    
    Maybe Frigga had just meant for her to look at the pictures?  This book had quite a few, and Celia certainly was curious about Vanaheim.  She took the book with her into the bath to study the pictures while she soaked off all the sweat and dirt and grime and achy muscles she’d accumulated that afternoon.  
    After her bath, Celia refused to be laced into yet another billowing silken nightgown.  Loki’s green shirt and Sindri’s leather pants had been taken to the laundry while she’d been out that day, despite her request the night before that nobody touch her things.  Celia was grateful that they had done it anyway, and pushed aside the filmy fawn-colored nightgown Asta had laid out in favor of the green shirt.  Since it reached to her knees, it was practically a nightgown.  She just had to be careful not to bend over too far, since it was so loose and low cut.  But it was comfy and familiar and infinitely preferable to sleeping in something she would have only a week ago deemed too extravagant to wear to the Met Gala.  
    Celia bid her maids goodnight and sat in front of the fire to let her hair dry.  The boxes of books were nearby, so she set about sorting them into two piles -- books with pictures and books without.  Which, strictly speaking, was how she normally sorted books, even when they were in a language she could read.  This was where Loki found her when the panel in the floor slid open and he peered out from the dark tunnel below.    
    Celia had not seen how the tunnels worked when Loki visited her the night before, and it startled her when she noticed the floor inexplicably shifting.  She reached for one of Hogun’s knives and pointed it at the dark opening, tense and prepared to scream for the guards.  
    Loki smiled and slowly ascended the stairs into the room.  “Hello,” he greeted her.  “Why are you threatening me with that dagger?”  
    “Dammit, Loki,” she breathed, tossing the knife aside.  “Stop sneaking up on me!”  
    “Oh, I think you could handle yourself, you look very menacing,” he teased quietly, reaching under the mantle to close the tunnel.  “Where did you get a knife?”  
    “Hogun gave them to me,” Celia said, showing him the set of three throwing knives with pretty, filigree-inset handles.  
    “Why did Hogun give you his throwing knives?” asked Loki, picking his way through the stacks of books to sit next to Celia on the floor.  
    “So I can practice throwing them,” Celia said with a grin.  “You might want to watch out.  My aim sucks.  We met Lady Sif and the Warriors Three while we were walking in the garden.  They let me train with them, it was awesome!  By the way, is that really what they call themselves?  It would make an excellent band name.  Oh, what have you got, there?”  
    Loki held out _The Tale of Alfhild and the Naughty Skogkatt_.  “My mother sent me some books.  I see she sent some to you as well,” he said, looking at some of the titles.  He recognized them as books from his own library.  How was Celia supposed to read any of these?  
    And then it dawned on him that, perhaps those delivered to him had been meant for Celia, and vice versa.  Was Frigga planning to teach Celia to read Allspeak?  That would be...ambitious of her.   Loki strongly suspected that his mother was up to something, and it unsettled him that he couldn’t possibly imagine what that might be.  
    Celia was trying not to giggle too loudly as she turned the pages of _The Tale of Alfhild and the Naughty Skogkatt_.  “This looks adorable.  Please tell me that somewhere around here there are giant fluffy kitties we can ride.”  
    “It was my favorite book when I was a boy,” Loki admitted.  “I’ll read it to you if you like.”  
    “Yeah, I would like that, actually.  In fact, I marked some pages in this other book you can read me, too,” Celia said, hunting around in her piles until she found the book about Vanaheim.  She handed it to Loki.  
    It seemed like an odd choice for his mother to have sent him.  She’d sent dozens of others she knew were his favorites.  He noticed many beloved books he read and re-read constantly -- books of ballads and poetry, histories, astronomy guides and old tomes of magic.  Frigga had curated a very thoughtful selection for him.  So why a random addition about Vanaheim?  Maybe he was reading too much into it...but he was not for nothing his mother’s son, and he could recognize a scheme when he saw one, even if he couldn’t divine its intention.    
    His mother’s potential ulterior motives vanished from Loki’s mind as Celia snuggled against him and lay her golden head on his shoulder.  “I wanted to see you today,” she whispered.  
    “Yes, I seem to recall you barging into my room and yelling at Thor,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her.    
    The green shirt slipped from Celia’s shoulder and Loki anchored it with his fingers so it wouldn’t fall any further, giving him an opportunity to nonchalantly stroke the soft skin of her bare arm with his thumb.    
    Celia held the picture book in her lap and ran her finger across the title.  “What does that say?” she asked.  
    Loki smiled.  “It says, ‘The Tale of Celia and the Naughty Forest Cat.’”  
    “It does not say that!” Celia exclaimed, laughing and elbowing Loki in the ribs.  She sat up to cast him an accusatory look.  
    “Shhhhhh!  It does!” he insisted.  “Would I lie?”  
    “Yes!”  
    “I would never lie about my favorite story,” Loki said gravely.  “Never about something so important.”  
    Celia knelt so that she could look Loki in the eye.  “Okay.  If you say so, I’m with you.  Celia and the Naughty Forest Cat, it is.”    
    Loki smiled at her and reached out one hand to brush her hair back from her face, cupping her jaw after tucking the strand behind her ear.  He wanted very much to pull her close and kiss her, but he felt oddly apprehensive about such an overt gesture of desire now that he’d given himself permission to indulge in it.  
    Maybe she didn’t want him to.  Which would have been easy to shrug off when he was just doing it to manipulate her.  But now?  Loki was uncomfortable with the possibility that her rejection would hurt him.  
    She put her hand over his and closed her eyes, leaning into his touch as though she had been craving it all day.    
    “Seelie,” he whispered, more for the pleasure of her name on his tongue than with any purpose.  
    “Hmm?” she responded, opening her eyes lifting her head expectantly, waiting for him to say more.  
    Loki’s mind scrambled for something, and the first thing it found fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.  “You’re beautiful.”  
    Celia’s freckles twinkled as she blushed and shrank into herself, suddenly overcome with shyness.  “Shut up, what?  You’re beautiful,” she stammered.    
    Loki was grateful that she wordlessly changed the subject by thrusting the book into his hands and settling back against his shoulder.  He hoped she couldn’t tell how quickly his heart was beating.  He could feel hers racing against her ribs.  
    To distract them both from the tension, he simply turned to the first page and began to read Celia the story of the young maiden who gets lost in the woods and meets a giant forest cat.  He offers her a ride back to her village, and they have so much fun getting up to mischief together that they become best friends.  But their misdeeds land them in trouble with the village.  Alfhild -- no, _Celia_ \-- is locked up in a tower and the forest cat is shackled in the square, where angry villagers throw rocks at him and light fires on his tail.  But Celia breaks out of her tower and rescues the forest cat.  They escape back to the woods, where the cat turns into a handsome prince and reveals to Celia that he has been searching for centuries for a brave and mischievous maiden to be his love and his equal.  Celia kisses him, and they both turn into forest cats.  They get married and spend their days frolicking and making mischief in the forests, living happily ever after.  
    The best part of the story was, as ever, the cat noises.  Loki meowed with all the conviction of an accomplished thespian, causing Celia to bury her face against his chest to muffle her shrieks of laughter.  Her delighted reaction made it even better.  
    “The end,” he concluded, setting the book aside.  “Or, as the skogkatt say, _miau miau_.”  
  



	18. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Loki has a (really bad) plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it's been a pretty much ridiculous amount of time since I last updated. I haven't had a really stable living situation in a while, and that is now resolved. So, yay! I'll get the rest of this fic up!
> 
> A note about this chapter: Part of Loki's plan is taken from things that happen in Journey Into Mystery. That is to say, it happens in JiM so I'm taking it as a canonical thing that can happen, and I like to use bits of canon as kind of the cement that holds together my original ideas in the fic to try to expand on the world we already know and love rather than fight or totally reinvent what's there. I don't know if that makes sense, but in any case I wanted to give credit where credit is due. I mostly draw from the MCU for this, which I've already noted, but once in a while I need more and turn to the comics.

* * *

 

It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you’ve made,and there’s this panic because you don’t know yet the scale of disaster you’ve left yourself open to.  
-Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go, 2005

 

    After Celia’s laughter over the meowing subsided, she asked seriously, “What should I do about the locket tomorrow?”  
    Loki wasn’t sure how to answer.  He stared at the fire in silence for so long that Celia reached up and brushed his hair back from his face so she could read his expression.  
    “Lo?” she prodded, her brow furrowing to match his.  “Is everything okay?”  
    Loki looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there.  He wasn’t sure if he should tell her that he was concerned his bound magic would prevent him from using the locket.  He didn’t want anything to change her mind about ceding it to him.    
     “Give it to me,” he said finally.  “Then send it to the armory.  I’ll retrieve it when I collect the stone.”  
    “And then what?”  
    He sighed.  _And then I betray you and break your heart and you will hate me.  Because that is who I am.  That is what I do._   “I’m not sure yet,” he said.  
    “But you’re working on something?” she pressed.  
    “I am,” he lied.    
    Celia dove into his hesitation, searching it for some secret Loki might have concealed there.  The corners of his mouth twitched up in an attempt at a reassuring smile, and Celia reminded herself that she needed to trust Loki.  That he could do more with Mjøtuor than she could.  Wordlessly, she went into her dressing room to retrieve the locket.    
    When she returned to the sitting room, Loki was digging through the writing desk.  He found a pen and scratched something onto a scrap of paper.  
    “Here,” he said, handing it to Celia.  “I’ve written out for you what you must say.”  
    Celia glanced at the scrap.  Loki had the loveliest handwriting -- it flowed with a kind of elegant dynamism that seemed to teeter on the brink of erratic.  The words were written in the Latin alphabet, not Allspeak, but they were from no language Celia recognized.  
    “What does it say?” she asked.  
    “It says, ‘Whosoever wears this locket, if to him it be rightly bequeathed, shall possess the power of Mjøtuor.’  Only it won’t work if you say it in English.  It’s a spell.”  
    Celia nodded as she mentally repeated the phonetically spelled-out phrase, silently mouthing the words.  She studied it for several minutes before looking at Loki expectantly for further instructions.  
    He knelt before her as though she were about to knight him.  “Now, say the words as you place Mjøtuor around my neck.  And then you kiss my brow, and the transfer should be complete.”  
    “Should be?” she repeated.  “Aren’t you sure this will work?”  
    “We will find out.”  
    “Wow, okay, that does _not_ inspire confidence,” Celia objected, backing away.  “What if I say it wrong and you end up in a vanishing cabinet in Knockturn Alley?”  
    “You won’t,” Loki replied patiently.  
    Celia nodded, smiling nervously.  She hoped she would have the opportunity to share Harry Potter, _her_ favorite childhood stories, with Loki some day.  Otherwise, he would never get any of her jokes.  “What if I, like, hurt you or something?” she clarified.  “I could accidentally turn you into a newt.”  
    He held out his hands to her and she stepped forward so he was holding her waist.  “You won’t hurt me,” he promised, looking up at her earnestly, almost pleadingly.  She had to do this.  He was so close to having the power to control time.  _Real power_.  
    Celia’s voice was nearly a whisper as she repeated the spell, and Loki held his breath when her cold hands brushed against his neck.  She fastened the locket, smoothed his hair, and gripped his shoulders.  They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before Celia bent and pressed her trembling lips in a lingering kiss to Loki’s forehead.    
    The instant Celia straightened, a pulse of warmth emanated from the locket and ran throughout Loki’s body, leaving his fingers tingling with magic.    
     _Magic?_  
_But, of course._   The locket was designed to enhance its wearer’s gifts as well as to control time using the stone.  _It must be stronger than the bind_ , Loki thought, staring at his hands.  
    “Are you alright?” Celia asked.  “Did it work?”  
    In response, Loki tested his magic by conjuring a flower crown.  A pretty circlet of silver and gold hammered blossoms appeared in his open palms.  He looked up at Celia and grinned.  “I believe it has.”  
    He stood and crowned her.      
    Celia laughed.  “Princess of the Forest Cats?”  
    “Princess of...”  Loki trailed off as he stared at the crown.  “Celia,” he said urgently, “I have to go.  I’ll be back before morning, I promise.”  
    “What?  Where are you going?  Wait, let me get dressed and I’ll come with you.”  
    “No.  I need you to stay here.”  
    “Why?” she demanded.  
    “Trust me.”    
    Celia crossed her arms and tried not to look sulky.  “You know I do,” she grumbled.  “Just...please don’t make me regret it, Lo.  I’m counting on you.”  
    “I know you are,” he said.  “So let me do this.”  
    “You won’t even tell me what this is about?”  
    Loki opened the tunnel and began to climb down the stairs.  “Trust me!” he called, his voice echoing as he sprinted away.  

* * *

  
  
    “Hello, Loki,” the mistress of Hel greeted him.  She was languidly draped across a black silk divan, her skimpy green dress open to reveal wide swaths of pallid skin stretched across her bony sternum.  
    “Hela, always a pleasure.  I suppose you know why I’ve come?” Loki replied, looking around the vast stone throne room in the realm of dead gods.  Their voices echoed off the dank, gray walls.  
    “They are not here.”  Hela’s elaborate black headdress shuddered as she shook her head.  
    Loki shrugged.  “Well, I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”  
    “They were human.  Mortals of Earth.  Why would they interest me?”  
    “Her royal Vanir blood did not interest you?  I thought you were a collector, Hela.”  
    “And he was just a human.  They did not live or die as Vanir royals.  They were not even aware of her lineage, not aware of the Nine Realms at all.  As such, I had no interest in or claim over them.  It would have violated my pact with Death.  And in any case, they’ve moved on to the afterlife now, so it is too late.  I cannot help you get them back.”      
    Loki nodded thoughtfully.  He had not really expected Hela to be in possession of the souls of Celia’s parents, or capable of using her ability to restore the souls of dead Asgardians -- and, by extension, Vanir -- to bring them back.  It had merely been a necessary pretense.  Loki had a more important request for the mistress of Hel.  
    “And what of Celia?” he asked.  
    “Ah, yes, your little Celia.  What of her?” Hela teased, slinking off the divan and approaching Loki with a predatory smile.  She was a powerful being, and her deadly touch could reap Loki’s soul then and there if she wished.    
    But Loki refused to be shaken.  He knew that her intimidation was an empty threat.  Hela didn’t think it sporting to collect the soul of an Asgardian god with such an unfair advantage.  And Loki intended to take full advantage of Hela’s fondness for acquiring the illustrious dead of Asgard and Vanaheim.    
    As a mortal, in the natural order of things Celia’s soul would be reaped by Death and sent to the afterlife at Death’s pleasure.  But Hela’s pact with Death gave her jurisdiction over the Asgardians and Vanir.  If Loki could interest Hela in Celia, persuade her to consider Celia’s Vanir heritage, he would not have to fear losing Celia to Death.  Hela, he could bargain with.  He felt sure he could convince the goddess to bestow upon Celia a proper Vanir lifespan, thus buying Loki as much time with her as he needed.  
    “Is Celia’s name among your rolls?” he asked.  
    Hela pretended to ponder this question.  “Hmmmm.  It could be.”  
    Loki waited for her to name conditions.  She reached out and touched Mjøtuor thoughtfully.  
    “You don’t have the stone,” she observed.  
    “Not yet.”  
    Hela returned to her divan and summoned her handmaiden with a wave of her hand.  A young girl stepped forward from the shadows -- somehow, the girl’s long black hair seemed to be made of shadows.  She brought Hela an enormous book.  The goddess of death flipped through the pages and then returned her attention to Loki.    
    “I like you, Loki Laufeyson.  I believe that our friendship is mutually beneficial.  If the girl lives her life as a Vanir royal, I see no reason not to exercise my right to her upon her death. Which could be millennia from now, the Vanir can be quite long-lived, as you know. However, I will give you three hundred and thirty-three days to achieve for her that uncontested status.  If you fail to secure it, she reverts back to Death’s purview _and_ you will perform three acts of service to me as I see fit to assign them.  You can be certain they will require every bit of power that locket affords you, so I suggest you secure the stone in the meantime.  If you fail to perform the three acts, you will be in my service for three thousand, three hundred, and thirty-three years.”    
    The girl with the long, shadowed hair closed her eyes, her whole body tensed.  Loki briefly wondered what sort of deal had consigned her to this role as handmaiden of Hel, and how long her term of service had been, would be.  
    Pondering the handmaiden’s fate, it took a moment for the implication of Hela’s offer to fully dawn on Loki.  
    “When you say, ‘live her life as a Vanir royal,’ surely you don’t mean...” he started.  
    Hela laughed.  “It is, after all, rightfully her throne, is it not?”  
    Loki paced the stone floor, picking at his palms nervously.  It was not that he was necessarily opposed to Hela’s proposal.  Rather, he was frustrated with himself for not thinking of it sooner.  His intention for this bargain with Hel had been simply to buy more time with Celia, to keep her out of Death’s reach.  How had he not considered this?  Maybe he could spin it as a sort of consolation?  _I’m so sorry we could not restore your parents but let us instead rule Vanaheim together in their honor._   Of course she _was_ technically the rightful ruler, but she could not rule it alone...  
    And now it was bound up in Hela’s deal.  Three hundred and thirty-three days wasn’t much time.  Although, once he had the Time Gem that would be less of an issue.  It did seem like an ideal outcome.  And that made Loki suspicious.  Why was Hela offering him this deal?  
    The mistress of Hel grew impatient with Loki’s hesitation.  “Well?  Do you accept?”  
    Loki felt sure he was missing something.  “Is it not enough that she is a Vanir princess now?  That the locket yielded to her?”  
    “And now it yields to you.  These are my terms,” Hela replied firmly.  “You would refuse a reason to cause Odin a bit of chaos, to take Vanaheim right out from under the Allfather’s nose?”  
    “And no doubt provide you with scores of battle-dead?” Loki countered.  
    Hela held out her hands, “As I said, mutually beneficial.”  
    “Mutually beneficial?  It seems to me that you stand to lose nothing in this bargain.  You will get a glut of souls even if we fail, plus my acts of service.  I require something more of you.”  
    “What would you ask of Hel?”  
    “For the three hundred and thirty-three days,” Loki continued, “I want my name stricken from the book.  During this time, my soul will be my own.  Celia’s as well.  We will both belong to _me_ for three hundred and thirty-three days.”  
    “No, I don’t think so,” Hela declined, chuckling as though it was ridiculous to even entertain the idea.  But she thought for a moment and countered, “You may have your own soul for those three hundred and thirty-three days, but not hers.  Hers is not mine to give.  At least, not until you fulfill your side of the bargain.”  
    Loki crossed his arms.  “And if something happens to her in the meantime?”  
    Hela shrugged.  “Then I suppose we both forfeit.”    
    That had been too easy.  He had to be missing something.  Loki tried to unravel the deal in his mind, to understand the hidden strings he knew were woven into it somewhere.  
    “This dithering bores me,” Hela complained.  The throne room began to shimmer and fade into blackness.  Hela was expelling him from her realm.  Loki was out of time, he had to decide now.  
    He felt uneasy about the terms, but for now, it was better than nothing.  “Very well,” he whispered into the void.  
    “The deal is struck?  You accept?” Hela’s disembodied voice asked.  
    “Yes.  I accept.”

* * *

  
  
    When Loki returned to the palace, he slipped through the tunnels and went directly to Celia’s rooms.  He’d been rehearsing all the ways he could avoid having to tell her too much about what his real errand had been that night, even going so far as to stop and pick a handful of wildflowers for her to make into a new crown.  
    But Loki was spared the mental gymnastics of having to evade Celia’s curiosity, because when he climbed out from the tunnel into her room, he found her nestled in a high wingback chair she’d dragged before the fire, curled into a little ball and fast asleep.    
    The picture book was open in her lap, along with a sheet of paper where Celia had copied common words in Allspeak -- _the, said, and, aye, thine, cat_.  Next to the Allspeak were lists of words written in English, some circled or crossed out, or followed by question marks.  There were also little doodles of cats and flowers.  Loki smiled, realizing that Celia must have gone through the book and tried to tease out the meaning of recurrent words.  _Clever girl_ , he thought fondly, gently twisting the pen from her fingers and sliding the paper out from under her arm.  
    He jotted down a quick note and tucked it back into the pages of the book, then reluctantly removed the locket from around his neck.  Loki had considered magicking up a replica for Celia to send to the armory and keeping the real Mjøtuor concealed beneath his breastplate, so he wouldn’t have to give up using magic.  But he wasn’t entirely sure how reliable his magic was right now, or if he’d have the stamina to keep up the replica.  It wasn’t worth causing an overt incident with Odin when he was so close to manipulating the situation in his favor.  He had to be patient.  So he coiled the chain around the locket and placed it into Celia’s open hand.    
    As he retreated back into the tunnels and returned to his own rooms, Loki’s mental gymnastics proved useful after all, and he expertly vaulted over another reason he was not willing to risk antagonizing Odin just yet.  Celia would be allowed to visit him later.  Even under the supervision of the guards, Loki was looking forward to spending a day with her -- not traversing the forest or covertly running around the city in disguise or consulting ancient mystics, just...time together.  Uncomplicated time.    
    Did such a thing even exist for Loki any more?  When he united Mjøtuor with the stone, time would bend to his will.  For now, he was tacitly grateful for the prospect of a just a few golden hours.

* * *

  
      
   _Burning._  
_Pain._  
_Silent screams._  
_Anguished screams.  “No!  Not her!  Take me!  Not her, please!”_  
_Burning._  
    Celia sat up with a gasp.  She had been in the grip of that same nightmare from the night before.  Thanos.  Loki.  Torture.  It had seemed so real.  
    Something clattered to the floor and she looked around, jumpy from the adrenaline still electrifying her body.  _Pain._   Her neck, stiff and achy from sleeping in the chair, sent jolts of pain down her back as she turned her head to search for the source of the clatter, the haze of the nightmare clinging to her consciousness and blurring her vision.  
    It was just the book that had fallen from her lap.  And the locket that had fallen from her hand.  _When did that get there?_   She picked up the book and a folded sheet of paper fluttered out from its pages.  
     _C.  I did not want to wake you.  Send M to the armory and then come see me.  L._  
    Beneath the brief line was a sketch of two cats -- one wearing a flower crown -- with their tails entwined.  Celia smiled.  _You absolute dork._   It was moments like this that made it seem impossible to reconcile the terrifying, dangerous Loki she knew from the vision of his past, the one Lady Sif warned her against, with the Loki who gave her presents and read her funny stories, complete with meowing.  The one whose arms fit around her as though they were made for that exact purpose.  The one whose heartbeat could lull her to sleep and keep nightmares at bay.  
    Celia uncoiled from the chair, her joints popping in protest, and went to the window to pull back the heavy drapes and peer through the latticed bars.  It was just dawn.  She had a few hours before Asta and Gerd would arrive with breakfast, and Celia did not feel like going back to sleep.  She was afraid of dreaming the nightmare again.  So, she went into the bathroom for a towel she could use as a yoga mat.  Between the workout with Sif and the Warriors Three the day before and sleeping in the chair, she felt like a crumpled piece of old paper, all brittle and cramped.    
    After an hour of yoga that stretched her muscles and calmed her nerves, Celia decided to preempt Asta and Gerd, to take a bath and get herself dressed.  It was creepy being dressed by two strangers, and she wasn’t in the mood to argue about dresses.  By the time her maids quietly entered the room, Celia was dressed in Sindri’s leather pants and boots, with the silver breastplate from the gray dress over Loki’s green shirt.  She looked up from the writing table, where she was still trying to recognize and translate the Allspeak from the picture book.  
    “Lady Celia, good morning!” Gerd cried, setting down a breakfast tray.  “I apologize that we were not here sooner, to help you dress.”  
    Celia laughed.  “You guys need to understand that I usually dress myself every day.  It’s no big deal.”  
    “It is our job,” Asta replied, a little tersely.  She took in Celia’s outfit with a disapproving glance, and held up the dress she’d brought for Celia to wear that day.  “And evidently, you need our help.  Lady Celia, please let us dress you properly.  The Queen is coming to see you again today.”  
    Celia ignored Asta’s lament.  “I need one of you to take this to Thor,” she said, holding out a note informing him that she was prepared to give the locket up to the armory “for safekeeping.”    
    Asta heaved a resigned sigh and took the note.  She returned shortly, accompanied by Thor and Frigga, who greeted Celia with an affectionate hug.  Celia reciprocated it warmly.  As much as she would have liked to hold the Queen’s mothering at a distance, it was given so genuinely and so generously that Celia couldn’t muster the resentment.  It was rather impossible to dislike Frigga.    
    The Queen seemed delighted that Celia was so interested in the books she sent.  “Have you been working on translation already?” she asked, noticing the work spread out on the writing desk.    
    “Just a little,” Celia replied.  “I could use some help, though.”  
    “But this is remarkable,” Frigga insisted.  “It must be your Vanir blood.  You are a natural.  I have no doubt you will be able to develop your gifts beautifully.  Would you like to begin lessons this afternoon?”  
    Celia twisted the hem of Loki’s shirt nervously.  “Actually, I was kinda hoping I could visit with Loki today?”  
    A self-satisfied grin spread across Frigga’s lips, as if that had been her real intention all along.  “She is allowing us to secure the locket in the armory,” the Queen said to Thor.  “I see no reason why she could not visit Loki today.”  
    Celia took the locket from the desk and held it out to Thor.  “Yeah, I thought it over and I think you guys will probably take better care of it than I can.”  
    “I thank you for trusting us with the stewardship of Mjøtuor,” Thor said gravely.  “I know it has great sentimental value for you.  We will keep it safe.”  
    “Cool, thanks,” Celia said.  “So...can I see Loki now?”  
    Thor looked as though he wanted to refuse, but Frigga spoke up before he could answer.  “Of course you can.  Let us walk over together.  My son will take Mjøtuor to the armory now.  Won’t you, darling?”  
    Celia could sense Thor’s hesitation, and she didn’t want to give him time to argue.  “Great!” she said.  “Let me just get this book I wanted to show Loki, and let’s go.”  She darted into the bathroom where she’d left the book about Vanaheim next to the tub.  
    “Mother, you are too lenient,” Thor hissed.  “Why are you so keen to throw them together?  I don’t trust Loki and we know nothing of Celia’s loyalties nor what sort of scheme he is using the poor girl to further.”  
    Frigga took Thor’s hand in hers.  It briefly crossed her mind that not so very long ago, she did not have to crane her neck quite so very high to look her stalwart son in the eye, to implore him to be kind to his younger brother.  “Loki seemingly cares for no one but this girl.  I am his mother, I can see it.  He cannot be reasoned with nor rehabilitated if he has no heart for us to reach.  You must allow him this.  I believe it is the only way to bring him back to us, to remind him what it is like to care and be cared for by others.  Celia is no threat, and it will do Loki so much good.  Ask Heimdall to keep an eye on them if it will ease your mind.”  
    “Is everything okay?” Celia asked, returning with her book and taking in their serious demeanor.  
    Thor tried to put on a reassuring smile.  “Yes, fine.”  He gave a little nod and then jangled the necklace in his hand.  “Well, I’ll see to Mjøtuor.  Enjoy your afternoon.”  
    “I sort of get the feeling that he doesn’t like me much,” Celia said as she and Frigga made their way across the hall.  
    “He has a lot on his mind,” replied Frigga, her tone apologetic.  She knocked at Loki’s door.  “The Lady Celia may come and go from these rooms as she pleases,” she informed the guards standing beside it.  Then she turned to Celia.  “We can begin your lessons tomorrow.”    
    After what seemed like a long time, Loki opened the door.  His hair was disheveled and he wore the soft green robe and loose trousers that Celia knew he wore to bed.  He gave them a tight-lipped smile.  “Hello.”  
    “Oh...is it too early?  I mean...were you sleeping?  I’m sorry,” Celia stammered.  “I can come back later.”  
    “Nonsense,” Loki said, not sounding at all as though he meant it.  He opened the door wide and gestured for them to come inside.  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?  Hello, Mother,” he kissed Frigga on the cheek.    
    “Your brother thought it would be nice if you two were allowed to visit,” Frigga told him.  
    “Well isn’t that...nice,” Loki retorted with heavy sarcasm.  
    Frigga did not look amused.  “It is.  So be nice.”  She patted Loki’s cheek and then said to Celia with a little smile, “I told you, don’t let him get away with any of that.”  
    “Yes, ma’am,” Celia said, trying not to smile back.  She couldn’t tell if Loki really was annoyed or just keeping up appearances.    
    Frigga seemed unconcerned either way, smiling that knowing grin as she swept out of the room.  Celia peered out into the hall as she left.    
    One of Thor’s stipulations had been guard supervision, but that seemed to amount to simply not closing the door.  The guard detail milled around in the hall and appeared to be studiously ignoring them.    
    Celia turned to Loki.  He grinned at her.  Not his annoyed, thin smile or his sarcastic, cruel smile, but a genuinely happy smile.  
    “Hi,” she said quietly.  
    “Hello,” he said back.  
    Celia crossed the room in three strides and launched herself into Loki’s arms.  He spun her around once, mostly to dispel the momentum of her embrace so they didn’t fall over, but he wasn’t disappointed when it made her laugh.  He’d discovered the night before how much he loved making Celia laugh.  Like giving her the glass flower circlet, it made Loki feel powerful to be the source of such unmitigated delight in her.  He wondered what else he could give her that would make her happy, knowing as he did that he soon had to deny her the one thing she wanted most.  
    And right then, Loki saw the fatal flaw in the deal he’d struck with Hela.  Because it suddenly made him feel so hopelessly, profoundly powerless to realize that he would literally offer Celia an entire realm, and she may not want it from him.  By preempting her wishes, by bargaining with her life, with her afterlife, Celia may never trust him again.  And it filled Loki with dread him to know that rejection on such a grand scale was at stake, and that this time he had no one to blame for it but himself.  



	19. The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, there is kissing! And other surprises!

* * *

 

    If you were an angel  
I would cut off your wings  
To keep you with me  
I would do anything  
Like broken bottles  
That slip from drunken hands  
I’ve watched my star falling  
And shatter on the ground  
-Rialto, “Untouchable,” 1998

 

    “Wait, are you allowed to move there?” Celia asked Loki, peering intently at the game piece he had just moved across the board.  
    Loki and Celia sat on the floor in a square of buttery afternoon sunshine crisscrossed with shadows from the window lattice.  The pattern mimicked the grid on the tafl game board between them.*    
    It turned out that Loki had absolutely no idea how to fill this uncomplicated time with Celia he’d so looked forward to.  The spontaneous banter and tender moments that had seemed to come so easily now became stilted and tentative without some bigger objective pacing the dynamic between them.  No longer united in escaping the Chitauri or finding the Norns, Loki and Celia were both gripped with shyness and simply stared at one another awkwardly for a while.    
    Loki finally went and dug a tafl board out of a chest in the bedroom.  He explained to Celia that it was a strategy game and that it was an important part of any Asgardian’s martial education.  That was plenty to pique Celia’s interest, and she insisted he teach her to play.  The set-up was fairly simple, not entirely unlike chess in concept, only instead of each piece having its own pattern of movement, Loki explained that all of the pieces could move forward, backward, or side to side.  
    “I thought you said pieces couldn’t move diagonally,” Celia said.  
    “I might have said that,” Loki hedged.  
    “Okay well you totally just moved that piece diagonally!” she insisted.  
    “No, I didn’t,” he said earnestly.  “I think you’re confused.  It’s fine, you’ve never played this game before.”  
    Celia’s eyes darted around the board.  “Don’t be patronizing,” she snapped.  She got very snippy when she wasn’t winning.  “How do you even have this many pieces?  Didn’t I capture that one already?  It definitely isn’t supposed to be in that square.”  
    “Oh, _that_ one?” Loki tried not to smile.  “I thought you meant another one.  No, no you didn’t capture it...you know, I might have accidentally moved it diagonally...”    
    “You did not.  I am positive that I captured it and you snuck it back onto the board somehow.  But either way, that’s cheating!  I cannot believe that you’re trying to cheat!  For shame!”  
    “But you’re supposed to cheat,” Loki protested.  “You can’t shame me, it’s part of the game to cheat.”  
    “You might have mentioned that up front, and anyway, I don’t believe you!” Celia cried, laughing in spite of herself and reaching out to take the game piece from the board.  
    Loki was quicker.  He snatched the piece first and held it to his chest.  “No, you already captured it, and I snuck it back in fair and square.”  
    “Um, no, you _cheated_ ,” Celia said.  “It’s only ‘fair and square’ if I know that we’re allowed to cheat, too.  And then it’s not so much cheating as, like, the rules.”  
    Loki blinked at Celia.  “But if we both know you can cheat, then you might win.”  
    “Damn right I would,” Celia shot back, drawing herself up to reach across the board and grab Loki’s wrist in an attempt to take the piece away from him.  
    Loki was much, much stronger than Celia and his arms a good deal longer.  He easily pulled his wrist away and held the piece aloft in his fist, stretching it up and back out of Celia’s reach.  
    Undeterred, Celia leaned further forward so she could catch hold of Loki’s arm, but she leaned a little too precariously and with a little too much force.  She lost her balance and tumbled into Loki, who was reaching so far back to keep the game piece away from Celia that he was easily knocked to the ground.  The board game scattered across the floor.    
    Celia crawled on top of Loki so she could pry the piece out of his hand.  Then she looked down to taunt him about it and realized that their faces were inches apart.  Her blue eyes twinkled even as her triumph faded, replaced by an awareness of every inch of Loki’s body pinned beneath her own.  To distract from this awkward self consciousness, Celia tried to refocus their attention back to the game.  “If cheating is part of the game, I assume that getting caught cheating comes with some sort of penalty or punishment,” she said quietly.      
    Loki looked at her with an intensity that seemed like a dare.  “I am at your mercy, my Lady.”  
    Celia blushed and started to look away, but found she could not pull herself out of the deep, blue pools of Loki’s eyes.  For a moment, she gazed back at him with matched intensity.  The few inches between their faces felt heavy, filled with the longing that could no longer be contained inside of them.    
    And then Celia impulsively shut her eyes and touched her lips softly against Loki’s.    
    The kiss was brief.  Loki tensed and stayed very still, holding his breath.  He did not reciprocate the gentle press of Celia’s mouth against his, did not arch into her body or wrap his arms around her.  He wanted to all of those things, but he could not even close his eyes, he was so startled at her initiative.  And Loki was afraid the slightest movement would somehow shatter this moment, as though it were a fragile crystal that finally found the exact angle of sunshine to cast an infinity of vibrant rainbow bursts.    
    Celia interpreted his lack of response as disinterest and pulled away.  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, trying to push herself off Loki without actually having to touch him any more than she already was.  
    Loki reached up and took Celia’s wrists.  He wrapped her arms around his neck and then slowly ran his hands down to press against the small of her back.  “You’re not sorry.”  
    Now it was Celia who remained frozen while Loki kissed her.  They were light, like snowflakes against her skin, and made Celia shiver as Loki gathered her hair to one side and placed kisses carefully across the nape of her neck.  
    “I’m _not_ sorry,” she breathed in agreement before Loki covered her lips with a deep, persistent kiss that made her curl her fingers into his shirt and pull him close.  He responded eagerly, shifting them around so he could be on top of her, to embrace her with his whole body.  
    “No, you are not sorry.  You are brave,” he said between kisses.  “And beautiful.”    
    Celia grinned.  “You think I’m brave?”  
    “You _are_ brave.  You haven’t been afraid of anything since the moment I met you.”  
    “Just now, I was afraid to kiss you,” she confessed.  
    “But you did,” he whispered back with a kiss.  And another.  And another.    
    Timidly, Celia worked her hands under the hem of Loki’s shirt.  He paused and closed his eyes as her fingertips danced up and down the smooth, taut skin of his back.  “Mmmmm, that feels so good,” he murmured.    
    Emboldened by Loki’s pleasure, Celia wrapped one leg around his hips.  Loki pressed harder against her, forgetting entirely that he was roughly four times more dense than the human girl.  
    “Ow!” Celia cried.  
    Loki instantly pulled away, “I’m sorry!”  
    “No, it’s not you,” Celia said, laughing.  She reached beneath her back.  “I was laying on that game piece.”  
    “Ah, yes, the offending game piece.  It served me well.”  Loki took the piece from Celia and tossed it aside.  He noticed a few of the guards smirking at him from the doorway and remembered that, although it had felt like an intimate moment, he and Celia had no privacy here.  As much as he wanted to continue where they’d left off, Loki sat up and took a few deep, steadying breaths.  
    The bliss and excitement of all that kissing left Celia feeling a little unmoored.  She wanted to touch Loki, to taste him, to breathe him in.  He was only an arm’s length away from her and she buzzed with a compulsion to be nearer to him, as though he would altogether float away if she did not touch him.  She pulled herself up and lay her head on Loki’s shoulder.    
    Loki turned his head toward her and smiled.  
    “Hi,” Celia said.  
    “Hello,” he replied.  “Was all that my punishment for being caught cheating the game?  Because, if so, I must warn you that it has only succeeded in ensuring I will do it again, and again, at every opportunity.  That was a terrible punishment, as punishments go.”  
    “Oh, you liked that, did you?  We could start another game now...” Celia said.  She felt her face blush from embarrassment.  Flirting with Loki so unabashedly just didn’t feel like the natural dynamic between them.  And yet, Celia felt a new sort of bond with him, that the slightest touch now resonated with close familiarity and intimate belonging.  Even a brush of her fingers across the back of his hand could be as full of meaning as a kiss.  
    Loki looked away from Celia to glare at the guards, and she intently studied his face.  The sharp angles of his features were a stark reminder that Loki was not, in fact, human.  Celia found herself curiously tracing with her fingers the arch of his brow, the cut of his cheekbone, the jut of his jaw.  Loki dipped his head toward her and closed his eyes, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips.      
    But Celia suddenly felt very uneasy.  Loki was beautiful and terrifying and how could she ever have thought that she had any right to kiss him?  He was so much more _vast_ than she and her petty human problems of loss and fragility.  She pulled her hand away from his cheek before he could feel her fingers tremble with the fear that she was in way over her head.

* * *

  
      
    Sitting in her own bed surrounded by books, Celia tried to concentrate on the words she was studying but her brain refused to focus, so she got up and paced.  The seconds ticked by slowly, agonizingly slowly, until Loki would emerge from the tunnels.  He’d been summoned by Odin and Celia was sent summarily back to her room to eat dinner by herself.    
    Her maids had put her to bed hours ago, but Loki still had not returned.  Celia tried not to worry, but she didn’t trust Odin one bit.  Anxiety mounted with each step, like something terrible was looming.  Celia knew she wouldn’t be able to calm down until Loki was back with her.  
    Or maybe she just felt that way because she was more aware now of how much she cared about him, and by extension was more aware of how difficult it would be to lose him.  Celia tried not to accumulate people in her life whom it would be painful for her to lose, but this had just sort of...happened.  So maybe the ominous feeling of things being on the brink of disaster just went with the territory when you found yourself falling hard for some thousand year old Norse demi-god with a miles-long rap sheet of cosmic misdeeds, whom you only met a week ago when he kidnapped you.  
    Celia paused and strained to hear the whisper of the tunnel sliding open in the next room, but all she heard was the crackle of the fire.  What if he didn’t come back?  What if they sent him away somewhere?  She thought about how she would be losing not only Loki, but his promise to help her get her parents back.  She had already ceded the locket to him, and she hadn’t been able to control it when it was still loyal to her, anyway.  If she lost Loki now, Celia would lose everything.  That was enough of a reason to feel so ill at ease.    
    And then she had to go and kiss him.  And he had to go and kiss her back.  _Dammit Loki._  
    Maybe this was a bad idea.  Maybe this needed to be stopped before it did her some real damage.  Celia wasn’t sure she had reconstructed her heart strong enough since losing her parents to stand breaking it again.   
   _No more kissing_ , Celia admonished herself sternly.  _No more sentiment.  Pack all of that in, at least until he fulfills his promises_.  
    Celia wasn’t sure she’d have the willpower to enforce such a boundary.  And she wasn’t even sure she wanted to.  _You have to_ , she thought.  _When he gets back, just make him do it.  If he won’t, then you’ll know that you’ve been a complete idiot this whole time.  No more kissing until he keeps his promise about the locket._  
    Focused so intently on her anxiety, Celia missed the soft scrape of the tunnel entrance opening, and was startled by Loki whispering her name.  
    “Seelie?”  
    She turned and reflexively darted to him, her shaky resolution washed away with a flood of relief.  “Lo,” she breathed, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face against him.  He kissed the top of her head.  
    “I was worried about you,” Celia said into his chest.  
    Loki laughed.  “Why?”  
    “I don’t know.  I just have a bad feeling.”  
    “Everything’s fine,” Loki said, stroking her hair.  “The Chitauri seem to have retreated entirely.  Bifrost repairs are nearly complete.  Odin thinks he’s sending me to Midgard to perform some sort of reparations under S.H.I.E.L.D. juristiction.  And they want to send you home soon.”  
    Celia looked at him in alarm.  “No, not yet.  When are we going to get my parents?  What’s the plan?  Where did you go last night?”  
    Loki hesitated.  He was still unsure about how much he should reveal to Celia of the deal he made with Hela, particularly since it added another layer of complication to things and he wasn’t quite sure how she would take it, or how he was going to work it all out.  It was a lot to ask of her, to take from Odin the throne of Vanaheim, even if it was technically her birthright.  “I’m still working on the plan.  Last night I made some inquiries and...”  
    Celia pulled away.  “Well, then tell me about what you’ve come up with so far.  You promised, Loki.  You promised you would do this for me.  What if my mother is waiting for me to help her?  What if she knew about Mjøtuor and is waiting for me to find it and come for her?”  
    Loki recalled that morning in the forest, when Celia confessed her guilt to him.  _“What makes you think my hands are clean?”_ she had challenged.  _“...I am a horrible, selfish person.”_   This was not simply a desire to reunite with her parents.  This was her redemption.  Loki hoped that what he’d learned from Hela might help Celia feel absolved.  He could tell her that part of it, at least.   
     “She didn’t know,” he said.  
    “What?  What do you mean?  How do you know she didn’t know?” Celia demanded.  
    “As I was saying, last night I made some inquiries.  Your mother didn’t know.  Celia, listen to me.  Your parents, they were ordinary humans.  They died in a tragic but _human_ way, and their souls are at peace in the afterlife.  They did not know about Mjøtuor, or Vanaheim, or any of it.  They aren’t waiting for you to rescue them.”  
    Celia narrowed her eyes at Loki.  “What are you saying?  That I should just _abandon them?_ ”  
    “You haven’t abandoned them, Seelie,” Loki gently assured her, reaching out to take her hand.  “They died.”  
    “No,” Celia said, knocking Loki’s hands away.  “You’re trying to talk me out of this, aren’t you?  You promised you’d help me and now you’re trying to talk me out of it!  You got what you wanted so I don’t matter to you any more, right?”  
    To Celia, this was the logical conclusion of the test she’d set up for Loki in her mind, the test he was failing with every deflection.  Loki closed his eyes, flinching as though Celia had struck him with one of her throwing knives.  It would make things so much easier for him to let her think this was true.  And what obligation did he still have to her, really?    
    His own childish love for her, the small part of him still capable of such a thing.  That obligated him now.  The truth spilled from him like blood from the invisible wound her words inflicted.  
    “You want to know what would happen if I helped you do this?  I’ll tell you,” he said bitterly.  “We use Mjøtuor, we go back, we change time just a fraction.  And Death does not take your parents.  _But Death will know_.  She does not exist in space or time in the way you understand those things.  To her, you have not altered the past and made a new future but undone her work.  You upset the balance she strives to maintain across infinity.  She has no mercy or sentiment, this balance is her only concern.  _There would be nothing I could do to protect you_ when Death turned her anger onto us.  And she _would_ take indemnity, but since she has no claim on me she would take it all from you.  I can’t let that happen, Celia.  I need more time.  I can’t protect you and I _will not_ lose you!  It is _because_ you matter to me that I need more time.”  
    “Don’t.  Don’t say things like that,” Celia whispered.    
    “Why not?”  
     _Because I can’t let myself care about you if you don’t do this for me_ , Celia thought, _and I already care too much_.  To Loki, she said, “Because if you don’t keep your promise to me, then it means I should never have trusted you.  And if I was wrong to trust you, Loki, then I lose everything.  _Everything_.  Do you understand?”  
    “Just listen to me...” Loki tried to explain again.  “I do understand, and that is why _I need more time_.”  
    “Yeah, right.  More time for what?  You won’t even tell me what it is!  If you’re working on some great plan, just tell me!  Hell, even if it’s a terrible plan, at least give me something!  You keep asking me to trust you more and more, and I want to but you have to meet me halfway here.”  
    Loki reached out to take Celia’s hand again.  This time, she didn’t stop him.  “Why must you make it so difficult for me to protect you?” he said.  
    Celia turned this over in her mind as she felt his eyes plead with her.  “What do you get out of protecting me?  You must get something.”  
    Loki looked away.  He wanted to tell her that she was the only person in the nine realms who knew everything about him and didn’t see him as a monster, and that when he could make her smile it felt like she was sharing her humanity with him, and it made him feel whole again when he was with her.  
    But he was unable to put any of that into words.  So he simply said, “What do I get out of protecting you?  I get, _you_.”  
    “No, Loki,” Celia said.  “You don’t _get me_ , especially if you can’t keep your promises.  It isn’t your choice, whether or not I’m in danger.”  
    “Can’t I choose to not place you in its path?  Is that so untrustworthy?  Seelie, I’ve not gone back on my word, I never promised to offer you up to Death.”   
    “But you knew what would happen when you agreed to it.”  
    “I didn’t know then that I...things are different now,” Loki stammered.  He was not prepared to have this conversation.  
    Celia wasn’t either, so she didn’t press him.  Instead she said, “I just find it hard to believe that you now have the _power to control time_ and you can’t do anything to help me.”  
    “Nothing is without consequences,” he said simply.  
    Celia heaved an exasperated sigh.  “Is this a space-time continuum thing?”  
    “If a space-time continuum thing means not wanting to condemn your soul to the abyss, then yes.”  
    “Well, that’s all very chivalrous of you, Loki, but I’m starting to wonder if you can really use the locket at all.  I mean, what are we still doing here?  You can’t even break us out of house arrest!  What good is the power to control time if you can’t _do anything_ with it?”  
    Loki held out his arms, exasperated.  “What would you have me do?”  
    “What are my choices?” Celia said sarcastically.  
    Loki thought for a moment.  “Seelie, you have witnessed my whole life.  Perhaps you would show me something of yours?”  
    “What do you mean?”   
    “We could visit your happiest memory,” Loki offered, hoping such a thing would soothe her.    
    Celia considered this proposal.  “How about a peek at the future to prove you kept your promises?” she countered.  
    “I’m afraid that’s far more complicated and dangerous,” Loki said, frowning.  _Why does she have to be so difficult?_  
    “I love danger!” Celia exclaimed.    
    “I know,” Loki replied wryly, rolling his eyes at her.  
    “Seriously, though?  No deal.  But you know what you can do?  You can see my worst memory.  And you can help me to change one thing about it.  I already know how to see into the past, remember?  I want some proof that the locket can actually _do stuff._ ”  
    “What have you in mind?” Loki asked cautiously.  “We can’t change the accident, if that’s what you’re thinking.”  
    Celia crossed her arms.  “But we can hide my phone so I can’t have that fight with my mom, can’t we?  So at least the last thing I said to her wasn’t... something horrible.  Will that break the space-time continuum?”  
    “I don’t think it will,” Loki said, looking very serious.  “And, I hope it will ease your mind.”  
      “Oh, yeah, no,” Celia said.  “ _This does not let you off the hook_.  It’s just...a demonstration.  A gesture of good faith.  I want to know how you use the locket to change things, not just see them.  I still expect you to keep your promise to me.”  
    “Alright,” Loki promised, “Then I still intend to fulfill it.”

* * *

  
  
    Loki disappeared down the tunnel to bring back the locket and the stone from the armory, and Celia tried not to cry, thinking of the moment in her life that she was about to revisit.  She had hoped this would make her feel better, but she just felt an even deeper sense of impending dread.  She couldn’t explain it, but she just _knew_ that something terrible was going to happen, was going to take everything from her.    
    Was it because Loki was being so evasive about his plan and these supposed arrangements he was making?  No, that wasn’t it.  As much as Celia wanted to pin this ominous feeling on the precariousness of trusting Loki, deep down she could not deny that he was the only thing that made her feel safe.  She hated to admit it, but maybe he was right about this meddling with time being pretty dangerous.    
    Now Celia regretted letting Loki leave her alone.  _Get a grip_ , she commanded, _and don’t you dare cry_.  She went to splash some cold water on her face.  Over the sound of the water in the sink, she thought she heard some sort of scuffle in the hall.  _Relax, the guards are probably just changing shifts_ , she told herself, drying her face on a towel.  
    But then, Celia heard six definitive thuds in quick succession.    
    She froze with fear for just a moment.  Six thuds, six guards.  Something bad was happening.  It was happening right now.  It was almost a relief, even though it was frightening.  She wasn’t going crazy, at least.  The ominous feeling had not been for nothing.  But Loki said the Chitauri had retreated, so what could be out there?    
    Galvanized by the proof that her instinct had been correct, Celia ran to the closet for Hogun’s throwing knives, shoving two into the waistband of her pants and holding the third outstretched as she faced the door.  
    The handle turned slowly, and the door inched open.  Celia held her breath and backed into the shadows of the closet, hoping the pounding of her heart wasn’t audible to whomever was behind that door.  
    But a familiar face peered around it, bright eyes urgently searching the room.  
    Celia sucked in her breath.  “Sindri?”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tafl is a Viking strategy board game. Click here for a detailed description and diagrams http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/games.shtml


	20. The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the pleasant interlude is officially over.

* * *

“Though nothing can bring back the hour  
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;  
We will grieve not, rather find  
Strength in what remains behind;  
In the primal sympathy  
Which having been must ever be…”  
-William Wordsworth, excerpt from “Intimations of Immortality,” 1804  
  
 

  “Sindri, you’re alive!” Celia cried, running to the lad and throwing her arms around him.  
    Sindri didn’t return her embrace.  “You must come with me,” he said.  
    “What’s going on out there?” Celia asked.  “Is it Loki?  Is he okay?”  
    “You must come with me,” Sindri repeated.    
    Celia frowned.  “We have to wait for Loki.  He went to get the locket.  He’ll be right back.  Please tell me what’s happening.”  
    Sindri looked dazed for a moment.  His bright eyes seemed to glaze over for a split second, and then he looked at Celia.  “Loki sent me for you.  We must go to him.”  
    “To the armory?  Is he okay?”  
    Sindri nodded.  “Yes.  The armory.  Come with me.”  
    He took Celia by the elbow and led her out into the hall.  All six guards lay still on the ground.  She looked at Sindri in alarm.  “Whoa!  Did you do this?”  
    “They are not dead,” he said defensively.  
    His response took Celia aback.  “Um, okay.”  _That was definitely a weird thing to say_.  
    Celia was starting to think that maybe it had been a bad idea to follow Sindri.  Something seemed very off.  Had Loki put him under some sort of spell?  She lagged behind as she followed him down the corridor.  
    Sindri stopped when they approached the end of the hall and looked back at her expectantly.  They could turn left or right, or continue straight down a flight of stairs Celia knew led to the main hall of the palace if you followed it for a while.  Other than that, she had no idea how to get anywhere, except for the vague notion that the armory was in the same secure wing as her and Loki’s rooms.  
    “Which way do we go?” she asked Sindri.  
    He grabbed her arm.  “Tell me which way!” he shouted.  His eyes flashed with a preternatural glow but he otherwise looked frighteningly blank.  
    “ _Let go_ ,” Celia demanded.  She remembered that she was holding the knife still, and she pressed it to Sindri’s throat.  “Did Loki really send you?  Are you even really Sindri?”  
    The boy laughed maniacally.  “It doesn’t matter if you do it.  He’ll kill me if I don’t deliver you.”  
    Celia felt the blood drain from her face.  Her hand trembled but she held the knife fast against Sindri’s skin.  A trickle of blood wended its way down and soaked into the collar of his shirt.  “Who?” she demanded.  “Who will kill you?”  
    “I get to keep the magic once it’s done,” Sindri continued conversationally, as if they were having a pleasant chat about the weather.  “And he promised the burning would stop.”  
     _Burning_.  Celia knew at once to whom she was to be delivered.  “Thanos,” she whispered.  
    “The Other promised!” Sindri yelled, lunging forward so his face was almost touching Celia’s.  More blood pooled at Sindri’s collar as the knife cut deeper, but he did not seem to notice.  Celia tried to wrest her arm free from the grip that he merely tightened.  “ _Now take us to the locket!_ ” he shouted at her.  “You’re useless without it.”  
    Celia thought fast.  When Loki had been in Thanos’s grip, it had taken some serious force to the head to snap him out of it.  Celia ran through everything Sif and the Warriors Three had taught her about using her opponent’s body weight and momentum against him, but she knew she would never be strong enough to hit Sindri with the force of a Hulk-smash.  Her best bet was to let Loki deal with him.  She just had to convince Sindri to return to her room.  Loki had to be back by now.    
    “What about the stone?” she said.  “I thought the locket was useless without the stone.”  
    “Where is the stone?” Sindri hissed.  “Is it not in the vault?”  
    “It’s back in my room,” Celia said, trying to keep her voice steady.  “I hid it there.”  
    Sindri began dragging Celia back down the corridor.  “Give it to me.”  
    They returned to Celia’s room, and her heart sank when she saw that Loki still had not returned.  She looked around, trying to contain her panic and think of some way to stall.  “I’ll just...get the stone, then,” she said nervously.  _Hurry up, Loki._  
    She remembered the little rose gold pebble from the path at the inn that she had taken as a sort of sentimental token.  Could she fool Sindri into believing it was the Time Gem?  _What choice have I got now?_   Celia retrieved the little stone from the jewelry box in her closet.    
    “Here,” she said, holding it out to Sindri.  “Be careful with it.”  
    Sindri took it from her and inspected it closely, angling it to catch the light so the stone shimmered.  His eyes glazed over for a moment and then he blinked the haze away before turning a scornful gaze onto Celia.  
    “You stupid girl!” he shouted, flinging the pebble at her.  “This isn’t the Time Gem!  It’s just a rock!”  
     _Well, that didn’t work.  Time to play dumb I guess_.  Celia arranged her face into an expression of shock.  “ _What?_ ” she cried.  “Are you serious?  He told me it was the stone!  Are you _sure_ it’s not the Time Gem?”  
    Sindri let out a terrible cry and lunged at Celia, striking her face so hard she saw stars.  She stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor.  She was pretty sure she was going to throw up.  
    “Lay another hand on her and I will remove it from your body.”  
    A weak smile found its way to Celia’s lips through the blood that streamed down her face.  _Loki._   He had finally returned, and he wore Mjøtuor around his neck.  
    “Lo, it’s Sindri.  You have to...hit him in the...head...” she said.  At least, she thought she did.  She tried to say it.  But her own head was throbbing so badly she couldn’t be sure she said it aloud.  Her face didn’t seem to be working properly.  
    “Hello, _Sir_ ,” Sindri drawled.  “Aren’t you glad to see me?”  
    “You should not have done this, Sindri,” Loki said solemnly.  
     _“I didn’t have any choice!_ ” Sindri yelled.    
    Celia had a vague notion of heavy footfall coming toward her, and then she was being hauled up to standing.    
    “Now give me the locket or I will kill her,” said Sindri.  
    Loki laughed.  “No, you won’t.”  
    Sindri grabbed one of the two throwing knives tucked into Celia’s waistband and held it to her throat.  “Won’t I?” he threatened.  
    Celia was pretty sure that she should be panicked right now, that she should be struggling, but reality was blurring around the edges and she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.  Sindri was going to kill her?  But Sindri wouldn’t hurt her.  He was such a sweet boy.  He gave her his boots and trousers.  What was going on?  
    Sindri held her tightly against his chest, and with every thud of his pounding heart, Celia experienced a flash of his past -- a vision, a sound, a feeling.  They were dim and indistinct, but she knew they were his.  
     _Pain._   A Chitauri soldier slapping Sindri across the room.  
     _Fear_.  The visceral draining feeling of being transported somewhere unknown.  
   _Screaming._   The burning.  Now, always burning.  
    Although Celia was only vaguely aware of what was going on around her, she understood what had happened to Sindri in his past.  When the Chitauri had come for her and Loki at the fortress, they had escaped, so the soldiers took Sindri to The Other instead.  They retreated from Asgard because they had a new plan.  Sindri was to be their Trojan Horse.  They were counting on him to be able to lure Celia away with the locket and bring her back to Thanos in the cosmos.  
    Over the sting of the knife at her throat, Celia felt so guilty for causing all of this pain to the innocent boy.  She rallied and turned her head, wincing at the bite of the knife on her neck, and she tried to look at Sindri.  “I’m sorry,” she managed to say.  
    “It doesn’t matter,” he replied.  “It’s too late to stop it.”  
    Loki recognized these words, words that had passed through his own lips in a similar moment of desperation.  He thought of what his brother had said to him then, at the top of Stark Tower, and how utterly useless Thor's words had been.  Yet he found himself saying them to Sindri.  “No.  We can, together.”  
    Sindri’s gaze merely hardened.  “I’ll be back for you and the locket, Frost Giant,” he sneered, and then took the knife from Celia’s throat and hurled it at Loki.  Celia saw the knife embed itself into Loki’s arm before the breath was pressed from her body and Sindri transported them both away.  
    The stabbing pain of the knife distracted Loki for barely a split second, but that was all it took for Celia to disappear.  He did not bother to call out her name, or to run forward and throw himself at the spot where she had been only a moment before.  Instead, he calmly pulled the knife from his flesh, wiped the blade on his sleeve, which was rapidly soaking with blood, and tucked the knife into his belt.  
    There was no question in Loki’s mind that he would go after Celia.  In a very short amount of time, Celia had become a precious thing to him, a part of him.  She was his humanity.  He would go after her.  Even though the idea of going back to that place made him sick with fear, he would go after her.  Because the only thing worse than going back there was knowing she was there now.  
    He gripped the locket and concentrated hard on Celia, trusting that the magic would know where to transport him.  He could not trust himself to think of that place as a destination.  Only her.  
 

* * *

     
  
    Loki could hear her screaming before his eyes adjusted to the darkness.  With relief he realized that they were screams of defiance rather than pain.  
   _“Get your fucking hands off me!"_ Celia was shouting.  This was followed by what sounded like some sort of battle cry, and Celia repeatedly kicked at her captors until they had the sense to hold her legs.    
    Stumbling against something soft on the ground, Loki discovered that Sindri was no longer among Celia’s captors.  The boy’s lifeless body lie in a crumpled heap, his blank eyes wide with terror in a head that was twisted askew from a broken neck.  Sindri had failed to deliver Loki and the locket, and The Other was ever merciless.  Loki paused to reach down and close Sindri’s eyes.  
    But then Celia’s angry shouts were abruptly cut off, and Loki lost all reason.    
    He forgot that he now wielded the Time Gem and was entirely capable of stopping time, of ending Celia’s torture in the blink of an eye.  Guilt that Celia was taking the punishment Thanos meant for him crowded every rational thought out of Loki’s mind, overwhelming the thud of the locket against his chest as he ran to her.      
    “No!  Not her!  Take me!  Not her, please!” he shouted, the only coherent thoughts he’d been able to form.    
    Celia lay in a pool of blue light, her body taut in agony.  Loki threw himself over her as if to shield her from the pain, even though he knew it would be no use.  
    The Other laughed.  “Loki Laufeyson, god of saving his own skin, offers himself in the girl’s stead?  Your turn will come, Jotun, but He has use of you, yet.”  
    The blue light faded, and Loki cradled a limp and bloody Celia in his arms.  He could not think of what to say or do, too paralyzed by flashbacks of his own torture by Thanos, of the searing pain that stripped him of his very selfhood.  He had only barely begun to rebuild himself.  _Not again, not again_.  And now, Celia along with him.  _Everything is lost_. _I did this to her._  
    Loki struggled against the despair, barely noticing Celia’s weak, trembling hand reaching for Mjøtuor.  She tapped it with her finger.  
    The world began to hum, to vibrate.  Loki closed his eyes and held Celia tight, fearful that this was a harbinger of some new manner of pain about to be visited upon them by the Mad Titan.  In a flash, the vibrating tone grew so immense, it seemed to eradicate the very cosmos, and then just as suddenly it faded back into the sound of traffic in the street and the gentle rush of an air conditioner.  
    Cautiously, Loki opened his eyes and looked around.  
    They were in Celia’s apartment in New York City.

* * *

  
  
    On the floor in the middle of the living room, Loki clung to Celia protectively and listened for signs that they might have been followed.  Was he interdimensionally transporting without warning again, as he had when he first visited Celia’s apartment?  It had taken maybe ten or fifteen minutes for Chitauri soldiers to find him that time.    
    But this had lacked the telltale signs of transporting, the swirling feeling of your chest emptying as you were whisked through space.  After he’d had a few moments to compose himself, it occurred to Loki that they had not merely transported through space, but through _time_ as well.  
    “You pulled us through time,” he whispered to Celia.  
    She did not respond.  She was curled in a tight ball, huddled against his chest and breathing very shallowly.  Loki was worried that her frail human body would be less able to withstand time travel on top of the trauma Thanos had inflicted.  He felt quite weakened himself, and his arm hurt like Hel where Sindri had managed to stab him, but he pulled himself to his feet.  With great difficulty, he lifted Celia off the floor and placed her as gently as he could on the sofa.  As much as he wanted to hold her until he was sure she was alright, he had to make sure they were not vulnerable here.  Thanos was not the only threat that concerned him.  
    It was incredibly dangerous to interfere with time, and for all Loki’s proclivities toward mayhem, he was not especially eager to cause catastrophe to Celia’s timeline.  If past-Celia were in the apartment, they needed to tread carefully.  He made his way quietly down the hall toward the bedrooms.  The door on the left was open.  Celia’s parents were not there.  The door on the right was closed, but light shone under the crack at the bottom of the door.  Past-Celia must be inside, possibly awake despite what seemed to be a late hour.  
    With uncharacteristic caution, Loki wrapped his fingers around Mjøtuor.  The power to control time was a heady thing to hold in one’s hand, and he hoped that he was making the right decision as he closed his eyes and willed time to stop for all those who belonged to this past moment.  A vibrating hum subsumed the ambient sounds of New York City as it swelled, and when the pulse receded, everything was silent.  
    Loki opened the door and peered inside.  Past-Celia was asleep on top of the covers of her bed.  Frozen in time, she looked like a statue rather than the vibrant Celia he had come to know, and the lifelessness of the figure was disconcerting.  Still, Loki entered the room.  Part of him felt like this was an intrusion, but then he thought about Celia’s glimpse into his past, into his own mind.  He turned in a slow circle, taking in the posters and trinkets that constituted Celia’s intimate possessions as if they would unlock the mystery of his feelings for her.  
    There were half a dozen flower crowns hanging on the wall above a small bookcase, which made Loki break out in an affectionate grin.  He approached the bookcase and gently touched a pink sparkly box on the top shelf, opening it to reveal a miniature ballerina and a jumble of ticket stubs that each read _New York City Ballet presents The Nutcracker_.  Some of them were faded nearly to nothing, they were so old.    
    Next to the box was a framed photograph of Celia and, Loki assumed, her mother and father.  He picked up the picture and scrutinized it closely.  Celia strongly resembled her mother; they had the same blonde hair and wide-set blue eyes, same full lips and elfin bone structure.  They both wore easy smiles as they laughed at Celia’s father, who was making a funny face.      

   They looked like such a happy trio, and suddenly Loki felt an ache of sorrow.  What was it like to stand between your parents and laugh like that?  What was it like to feel yourself part of a family, to look at your mother and see your own image in her face and know that you primordially belonged to her?  Loki knew only what it was like to not-have those things, and he felt so sad for Celia because he imagined that the only thing more heartbreaking than not-having it was to have had it and lost it.    
    Loki immediately felt guilty for thinking this way.  How many times had Frigga said to him, since he learned of his Jotun heritage, “I am your mother because I _chose_ to be your mother, not because of some accident of birth.  Does that count for nothing?”  And Loki, ever petulant, would tell her that she was not his mother.  For, what sort of tenuous bond was forged of something so fickle as choice?  His icy response served to conceal the fiery fear he felt eating away the very marrow of his soul, fear that such a choice was devastatingly simple to un-make.    
    But now, Loki understood.  He looked at the picture of Celia and her parents and he understood that there were some choices that could not be un-made, and one of them was love.  Loki understood why Celia, who loved her parents dearly, could not live with their last day existing together in this realm as one in which she had repudiated her love for them.  How would he feel if he rejected Frigga’s love for him only to lose her before he could make amends?  The thought ignited that soul-wasting fear again, and he knew that he would do anything to avenge his love for his mother.  And he understood why Celia must do the same.  
    Loki sighed and replaced the picture on the bookshelf.  If he helped Celia do this, he would certainly lose her.  He was not sure he had it in him to be that unselfish.   Altering time was a power he’d intended to use as a weapon, as a method of subjugation.  It was a perilous and unpredictable power, which was what made it so appealing to the trickster god.  But Loki was terrified of using it for Celia in this way, terrified that even the slightest alteration to her timeline could spin wildly out of his control.  
    He had to protect Celia.  It was a choice Loki could not un-make, and yet, here he was.  Could he stall Celia for three hundred and thirty-three days, to fulfill his deal with Hela and keep her away from Death?  He hoped this excursion into Celia’s past would placate her, buy him that time he desperately needed.  What harm could be done if they simply prevented past-Celia from taking that call from her mother?  What harm could be done by simply hiding her phone?     
    The uncertain consequences, usually so tantalizing, now filled Loki with dread.  All the same, when he noticed a bedazzled pink StarkPhone on the bedside table, he picked it up and switched it off.  _Whatever comes of this, I cannot lose her,_ he thought, turning the feeble Midgardian tech over in his hands.  _I will not._  
    “Loki?” he heard Celia call from the living room.  Her voice sounded hoarse and frightened.    
    Loki hurried to her side.  She was struggling to sit up and looked around the room in a daze.  The side of her face where Sindri had struck her was bruised and swollen.  She was covered in both of their blood.  
    “Are you alright?” he asked, trying to bury his concern under a tone of composure.  She looked so frail, so battered.  
    “Where are we?  This isn’t right.”  
    “I’m not sure,” Loki said slowly.  He helped Celia sit upright and held her steady as she looked around.  “You...  I think you did this.”  
    Celia tensed beneath his hands.  “What do you mean?”  
    “The stone is in the locket, Seelie.  You touched it, and I think you sent us back in time.”  
    “How is that possible?  I did the thing, like you told me to, and gave the locket to you.  I thought you said it worked!”  
    Loki nodded pensively.  “Thor does not lose his ability to wield Mjølnir if another who is worthy picks it up.  It seems you did not transfer the locket to me so much as...”  
    “Make you an authorized user?” Celia interrupted.  
    Loki made a face at her and continued.  “And since we’d just been discussing a particular moment we planned to visit, and you are not yet capable of controlling your abilities, I suspect we have arrived at that moment.”  
    The color drained from Celia’s lips as she said, “This is the night before, then.”  
    Loki held up the StarkPhone.  
    “Give it to me!” she cried.  
    “Celia, no,” Loki said, putting the phone on the coffee table.  “Please, you must be very careful while you’re here.  I’ve paused time, so that makes it less fraught, but... I need you to promise you won’t touch anything.”  
    “But...” Celia began.  
    With both hands, Loki reached out and gently cupped Celia’s face, then leaned in to silence her with a kiss, heedless of the blood streaked down her face.  “Promise me,” he whispered.  
    She ran her hands up Loki’s arms, intending to pull him closer.  He winced, his face creased with pain, as she squeezed his injured bicep.  
    Celia drew away sharply and looked at her blood-dampened hand.  “Loki, oh my god, you’re bleeding!  What happened to you?”  
    “It’s nothing,” he said with a grimace he tried to disguise as a smile.  “Just stabbed with one of your little knives.”  
    “Oh, yeah, no big deal,” Celia retorted, inspecting his arm.  “Lo this looks like a lot of blood.”  
    “It’s nothing,” he said again.  “It’s not bleeding much any more.”  
    “But you probably need like, stitches or a tetanus shot or something!” Celia pressed.  
    Loki returned his hands to Celia’s face, searching her eyes with his as he felt for broken bones.  “Are _you_ alright?” he asked her again.  
    “Yes, I’m fine, but your arm...”  
    “Good.  Then so am I.”  
    They stared at each other for a few seconds before Celia leaned into Loki’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing a few shuddering breaths.  Loki feared this was silent weeping and desperately wanted to comfort her, but could not think of anything reassuring to say, so he simply stroked her hair with one hand and held her with the other.  After a few moments, she seemed more steady.  
    “It’s eerie to be here with everything so quiet.  It’s unnatural,” Celia observed.    
    Loki closed his eyes and sighed.  “Peaceful, though.  It’s just us.”  
    Celia abruptly pulled away, her eyes dancing with mischief.  “So...what can’t I touch?”  
    Loki knew that look.  He’d worn that look thousands of times.  That look meant trouble.      

    “Celia,” he said, trying to sound stern.  “I told you, touch nothing.”  
    “Can I just get a change of clothes?”  
    “No.”  
    “Can I take my iPod?  It’s old, I should probably get a new one anyway.  I know past-me won’t mind if it goes missing.”  
     _“No.”_  
    “Can I run out and rob a bank or go jump on Amy Dudley’s bed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art or something?”  
    “ _Nothing_.  Celia, promise me you will not take or otherwise meddle with anything here.”  
    “ _Okay_.  I promise.  But can we, like, just hang out for a little while?  Listen to music or something?”  
    Loki couldn’t think of what harm listening to music would do, and he reasoned that a paused moment in the past was not a bad place to hide out for a while from whichever horrors The Other was sure to have sent after them.  
    And, for all Celia said she was fine, her hands still trembled.  Loki was not at all convinced she was fine.  Yes, they could rest here for a little while.  



	21. The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Celia takes matters into her own hands. Also, Loki is ticklish.

   

* * *

Daylight licked me into shape.  
I must have been asleep for days,  
And moving lips to breathe her name,  
I opened up my eyes.  
And found myself alone, alone,  
Alone above a raging sea  
That stole the only girl I loved  
And drowned her deep inside of me.  
  
-The Cure, “Just Like Heaven,” 1987

 

   Moving slowly and stiffly, Celia kicked off her boots, and then she helped Loki wriggle out of his heavy tunic, breastplate, and bracers.  She wasn’t squeamish, but she handled his gear gingerly.  Loki’s clothes were sticky with blood.  
    “Wow, Carrie-at-the-prom is _not_ a good look for you,” Celia observed pointedly, trying to mask her concern with a little humor.  She may have barely passed the anatomy course she took in college, but she knew enough to know that there were major arteries in the arms and that Loki could very well be more injured than he was letting on.  
    Loki said nothing.  With a weary sigh, he eased his shirt over his head, peeling it as delicately as he could from the wound on his arm.  The gash itself was already beginning to knit back together.  Not as quickly as Loki would have liked, but it would be healed soon enough if he rested for a while.  Even with the Infinity Stone enhancing his magic, it felt weak.  Whether this was from working against Frigga’s bind or from his blood loss, Loki couldn’t say.  Either way he needed rest.   
    Celia did not even try to pretend she wasn’t staring at Loki’s bare torso while he inspected his wound.  This was the first time she was actually seeing him in such a state of undress.  The architecture of lean muscles and sloping ribs mesmerized her as Loki twisted his body to look over his arm.  Angry purple and crimson bruises bloomed like watercolor over his pale skin.  His disheveled dark hair fell over his face and shoulders with a Baroque tenebrism that would have seemed utterly beautiful if at that moment he hadn’t looked so tragically fragile in this attenuated, half-naked posture of exhaustion.  For all Loki was a demi-god, right then he seemed so vulnerable, and Celia very much wanted to wrap him in a blanket and banish that ashen look from his face.  
    She thought about the day before, the moment after they had kissed, when she felt like she could casually touch him and have it feel intimate, meaningful.  And now, here was a magnificent swath of his naked body before her and Celia resolutely clasped her hands behind her back to keep from touching him.  She felt shy and silly and completely convinced that she’d made the whole thing up.  What right had she to touch such a beautiful god?  What power had she to offer him any comfort?  
    And then Loki looked up at her.  His face softened, pleased to catch her staring.  His eyes seemed to plead with her to never leave their sight, and in that moment it seemed impossible to Celia that she ever would.  The look in his eyes bestowed on her every right, every power.  She ached to put her arms around him.  
    But all she could say was, “Let’s get cleaned up.”    
    “I suppose we should not bleed on everything in your apartment,” Loki agreed.    
    Without another word, Celia retreated into the bathroom.  She stopped short when she caught a glimpse of her battered face in the mirror.  Her right cheek was bruised and swollen.  Blood streaked down her front, matted in her hair.  She felt a little woozy and would not be surprised if she had a concussion or something.    
    Celia was unsure of how this whole stopping-time thing worked, and she reached for the sink with no expectation that the water would actually run.  To her intense relief, the tap vibrated strangely beneath her hand but the water flowed.  She leaned forward and splashed it on her face, then rinsed the blood out of her hair as best she could.  As she toweled it dry, she rummaged through the cupboards for something to tend Loki’s injury, grateful to find a jumble of gauze leftover from when she’d had her wisdom teeth out.  She grabbed it along with a bottle of Bactine, figuring it couldn’t hurt to at least try to disinfect the wound, even if Loki might not be susceptible to such things.  It just felt good to be proactive about something.  
    When Celia returned to the living room, she found Loki sitting against the arm of the couch, his eyes closed and his posture slumped.  She was shocked to see that the gash in his arm was already covered over with translucent pink new skin.  He otherwise looked pretty terrible, but at least he wasn’t actively bleeding any more.  That had to be a good sign.  Still, with their luck, Celia didn’t think it would be overkill if she doused a piece of gauze in the Bactine before daubing it around his bicep.    
    “This is some healing factor you’ve got here, Lo,” Celia remarked.    
    “I told you,” he murmured, “I’m fine.  Just need to rest a moment.”  
    Once Celia had wiped away the blood on Loki’s arm, she lifted his elbow and began to swipe the cold, damp gauze down his ribcage.  Loki’s abs contracted and fluttered as he twisted back with a sudden inhale of breath.  
    “I can manage the rest,” he said, biting his lower lip.  
    Celia pulled away, concerned at first that she’d hurt him, that he had perhaps sustained internal injuries.  But how?  He hadn’t been in any serious fight.  Then it dawned on her, and she smiled, her face lighting up with delighted mischief.  “Lo, are you ticklish?”    
    Loki crossed his arms resolutely over his torso.  “No, I am not,” he said haughtily.    
    “Oh, no?”  Celia danced her fingertips lightly across Loki’s belly, from one hip bone to the other, before he could catch her wrists and hold them behind her back.  
    “Have you forgotten that I’m much stronger than you?” Loki chided.  His dancing eyes betrayed the grin his mouth fought to bite back, and Celia was grateful to see this hint of a smile replace the drawn, weary expression on his face.  She smiled back and leaned into him.  
    “Oh, _that_ ,” she said coyly.  “I might have forgotten about that.  Maybe you should remind me.”  
    With his arms around her, Loki lifted Celia off her feet, but he was still unsteady on his own.  He lost his balance and stumbled into the coffee table, knocking to the floor a few remote controls, a book, and Celia’s phone.  
    “Sorry, I’m...” Loki let himself sink onto the couch.  “I just need a moment.”  
    Celia bent and picked up the fallen items, returning each to the table except one of the remote controls.  She held it up.  “Do you know what I have always wanted to do?”  
    “Something that will get you into trouble?” Loki said sarcastically, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  
    “That’s the thing,” Celia said.  “My whole life, it totally would have gotten me in _so much trouble_.  But right now, I can finally turn the stereo up all the way up to _eleven_ and it won’t bother anyone!”  
    “You mean, your music?” Loki guessed.  
    “ _Yes_ ,” Celia replied, aiming the remote over her shoulder to point at the stereo.    
    The remote vibrated in her hand, and a buoyant song began to play.  Celia immediately broke into a huge grin.  She started playing air drums along with the beat, and then switched to air guitar, and finally, pushing her pounding headache out of her mind, just sort of bopped around, trying to entice Loki to join her.  
    “The Cure!” she yelled over the music, reaching for Loki.  
    “The cure for what?” Loki yelled back, reluctantly allowing himself to be pulled up from the couch.  
    “No, The Cure is a band.  My dad’s favorite band.  I was raised on this music,” Celia explained before holding the remote to her lips like a mic and singing along to the lyrics.  
  _“Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick_  
 _The one that makes me scream, she said,_  
 _The one that makes me laugh, she said,_  
 _And threw her arms around my neck.”_  
At this juncture, Celia wrapped her arms around Loki’s neck.    
   _“Show me how you do it, and I promise you_  
 _I promise that I’ll run away with you._  
 _I’ll run away with you.”_  
Celia tried to get Loki to dance with her.  She managed to coax him into holding out his hand and twirling her around as she continued singing along.  
 _“Spinning on that dizzy edge,_  
 _I kissed her face and kissed her head,_  
 _And dreamed of all the different ways_  
 _I had to make her glow._  
 _Why are you so far away, she said,_  
 _Why won’t you ever know_  
 _That I’m in love with you?”_  
Celia twirled into Loki and he felt her mouth the next lines against his bare skin.   
   _“That I’m in love with you...”_  
    Abruptly, Celia stopped dancing.  They were just the lyrics to the song, but...they weren’t just that.  Not now that she’d said them aloud, not when it felt like she was saying them _to_ Loki.  Had she not just resolved to shelve her feelings for him?  This was not the time.   
    Loki pressed his lips to the top of her head.  “I love you, too, Seelie,” he whispered, hoping with all his might that she would not hear him.  
    She did not.    
    Celia was too preoccupied with thinking about the fight they had been in the middle of, before Sindri showed up and they were once again swept into danger and chaos that required them to cling together.  Why _was_ Loki still helping her, anyway?  He had what he wanted, didn’t he?  He had the locket, had the stone.  Celia wondered, what was he really getting out of all this now?  Because as much as she wanted to believe that he could care for her so much he’d risk all of this to keep a promise to her, she knew that Loki had never in his thousand years of existence been so selfless or noble.  There had to be more going on.  And Celia would not entertain these feelings for him until she knew what it was.

* * *

  
  
    In the tepid air of the apartment, Loki lay stretched across the sofa with Celia draped over his chest.  Her cheek stuck to his bare skin with a thin sheen of sweat.  It was slightly uncomfortable, but she opted to let it be.  They had slept in this way nearly every night since they met, and their bodies fell into it almost automatically.  It was as comforting to Celia as her own bed, only at this moment she was fighting that comfort, desperate to stay awake.      
     _You aren’t supposed to sleep if you have a concussion, right?_   She thought she remembered hearing that somewhere.  So, had she instructed Loki to keep her talking.  
    “About what?” he’d asked wearily.  
    “Anything.”   
    Loki’s eyes kept drifting shut, but he murmured softly to Celia over the sound of a Tom Waits album.   He asked her to tell him about the pink sparkly box he’d seen in her bedroom, and Celia told him about how it had been a tradition for her and her parents to see the Nutcracker every year, and drink cocoa at a little cafe around the corner from Lincoln Center on their way home, and that one year they ran into the ballerina who danced the Dewdrop Fairy.    
    To keep himself from being lulled to sleep by Celia’s voice, Loki kept interrupting as she tried to explain the plot of the ballet.  “So, a magic prince comes from a faraway land and rescues Marie from...giant rodents?  Like, bilgesnipe?”  
    “Um...yeah, sort of... Or, I don’t know, like Chitauri?  Sound vaguely familiar?”  
    “Oh, yes, especially the part when they go to his homeland to be entertained by dancing sweets,” Loki teased.  
    “What, you don’t have that in Asgard?”  
    “What happens at the end?” Loki asked, trying to stifle a yawn.  
    “They fly away in a magic sleigh.”  
    “Where do they go?”  
    Celia lifted her head and smiled at Loki.  “Maybe they live happily ever after.”  
    “Or maybe they’re eaten by bilgesnipe.”  
    “Stop making fun of the Nutcracker!  It’s my favorite childhood memory and there are definitely no bilgesnipe in the Nutcracker.  Like your favorite childhood memories are so logical?  Need I remind you of the Naughty Skogkatt?”   
     This prompted Loki to ask Celia more about her childhood.  What did she study in school?  (Art history.)  Who were her friends, how did she meet them?  (Jenny, getting Celia out of trouble, which set the tone for their entire friendship.)  What were her favorite things?  (“Lots of things...Flower crowns!”)   
What was it about flower crowns that she liked so much?  (“I don’t know, they make me feel beautiful."  This made Loki smile.  “You are beautiful,” he remarked sleepily.)  He asked her what her parents had been like.  
    And with a wavering voice that strained to keep the dam of tears from breaking, Celia told him about how her dad, an economics professor, was actually a big goof-ball and his classes at the university had been really popular with students because he was so funny and approachable.  That when Celia was small she had honestly believed that her mother, a historian, had read every single book in the whole world.  You could muse over any subject in her mother’s hearing and she would be able to recommend the exact book you should read to learn more about what you were thinking.    
    “They were -- _are_ \-- just such incredible people, Lo.  I can’t wait for you to meet them.”  
    Loki thought for a moment before he spoke.  He had decided that there was no way around telling Celia about the deal with Hela.  Or at least, a version of it he could twist into the shape he thought would seem most amenable to her.  She would forgive this sort of lie, wouldn’t she?  A lie that was for her?      
    “It might be some time before we can do anything for your parents,” Loki said carefully.  “But Mjøtuor recognizes you as the princess of Vanaheim.  Perhaps in the mean time it would be a fitting tribute to them if you were recognized more widely as such...”  
    “You mean by all the crazy Ragnkils running around Asgard?”  
    “Surely they cannot all be crazy.  I have no doubt there would be many Vanir who would welcome you with open arms as their princess, see you as their advocate in the monarchy, perhaps even the figurehead of an independent Vanaheim.”  
    “Well...I mean...I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it, Lo, but this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.  And anyway, first things first, yeah?  We kind of have a lot going on at the moment.”  
    “We do,” Loki agreed.  “But I believe I have found a way for you to attempt your parents’ rescue without endangering your very soul.”  
    Celia sat upright as though this were too serious to discuss lying down.  “What do you mean?” she demanded.  
    “If you were to become, not just in name but in fact, the rightful heiress of Vanaheim, you would have...” he paused, neither wanting to outright lie nor disclose too many of the details.  “You would have more powerful protections in place than I could provide without that recognition.”  
    “What do you mean, like, some sort of allies on the level with Death or something?”  
    “Something like that.”  
    “Well, great!  When can we meet them?  Let’s go!”  
    “Celia, wait.  It will not be that easy.”  
    Celia slumped back against the couch as a thousand complications flooded her mind.  “Oh, yeah, of course.  You’re right.  Like Odin would ever allow it.  That would never happen, I’m guessing?”  
    “Not easily.  Not without very compelling persuasion.”  
    “You mean like, of the punching variety?”  
    “Probably.  Only punching my way to things isn’t really my style.” Loki said.  “I haven’t mentioned this to you because I have been trying to think of a method that is more assured and less fraught than punching.  But this ally is not patient.  I don’t have much time to fulfill her terms.”  
    “Back up, Lo, I’m confused.  What do you mean we don’t have time?  You seem to keep forgetting that we have the _power to control time_ ,” Celia gestured around wildly at the unnatural stillness all around them.  
    “Not her time, we haven’t.”  
    “Odin’s, then.  And if we’re making a list, what about Thanos?  I feel like we are sitting on our best weapon, here.”  
    “I know.  But we must be calculated with its use.  There is no point in waving it around only to end up in some alternate timeline that isn’t real.  You would not want to exist in an illusion.”  
    “Okay, but, like, isn’t all time an illusion?  I mean...I don’t understand any of this very well but I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that reality isn’t quite so simple as real or not-real.  It seems a lot more complicated than that,” Celia argued.  
    Loki gathered her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss.  “And you would be right, my clever girl, but do you wish to see it even more complicated?”  
    Celia sighed.  No, she really did not.  She just wanted everything back the way it was.  For real.  She squeezed Loki’s hand.  “You’re right,” she reluctantly agreed.  “Okay.  I trust you, Lo.”  She settled back against his chest.  “So, what do I need to do?”  
    “Don’t worry,” he assured her, running his fingers gently through her damp hair.  “I’ll see to everything.  You would not be without a powerful adviser to guide you as ruler of Vanaheim.  You will not have to do this all on your own.”  
    Celia knew that Loki meant for this to be comforting, but something about what he said made her feel like a block of ice had settled in the place where her heart should be, sending frozen shards through her entire body.    
    She looked at Loki.  He had closed his eyes, finally losing his battle with exhaustion.  He was so beautiful, and Celia suddenly felt so sad.  She wanted to believe that he cared about her enough to be honest with her, to keep his promises.  But her small, nagging doubt seized what Loki had just said, wove it into a noose, and wrapped it around her faith in him.  
    Celia hadn’t been quite able to add everything up, why Loki was continuing to help her, why a powerful demi-god would care about her this much.  What could she really mean to him?    
   _...It is dangerous for you to trust Loki.  He is mad for power, for a throne._   When Heimdall issued her that warning, Celia had shrugged it off.    
   _I have no throne to give him._  
    Well.  How convenient for Loki that now the thing she wanted most in the world, the thing he had promised to help her achieve, was contingent on asserting her claim to the thing _he_ wanted most in the world.  And the thing he wanted most wasn’t the devotion of a silly mortal girl.  _Oh, Loki._  
    He didn’t care about _her_.  Celia was merely his ticket to the throne of Vanaheim.  Of course, how could she have been so stupid, to not have seen he was up to something selfish?  First Mjøtuor and now this, and she was just a naive little girl, easily manipulated and completely gullible.  How dare Loki use the promise of her parents to manipulate her into becoming a figurehead for him to overthrow his father’s rule of Vanaheim!  Like hell he had some secret ally to help her.  Oh sure, he’d serve as her adviser.  _What a bunch of bullshit._    
    Celia was even more furious with herself than she was with Loki.  Because why had she not been prepared for this?  Everyone tried to warn her about Loki, she’d even seen his entire history of misdeeds with her own eyes.  What was she thinking, constantly giving him the benefit of the doubt, just because he was a little nice to her?  And then she let herself believe that there was something real between them.  She had allowed herself to be lulled by his gifts and his embraces.    
     _You kissed him first_ , Celia reminded herself.  _You handed it all to him on a silver platter.  How could you ever think someone as insignificant as you would mean anything to someone like Loki?  He isn’t even really capable of love, is he?  You’ve seen what a monster he can be._  
     _Shut up, brain._   She hated herself for thinking all this.  But it looked pretty bad.    
    Loki’s arm relaxed and slid down her back until it rested against the cushion.  He was fast asleep.  Celia carefully climbed off the couch and stood over him, reproachful heartbreak washing over her.  She desperately wanted to be wrong about his motivations for this new scheme.  But she hated feeling used, especially when she had so much at stake.  
    Most of all, Celia was weary of feeling so helpless.  She considered that maybe this was just the profound imbalance of power between herself and Loki making her paranoid about where things stood between them.  There had to be a way she could take matters into her own hands here, even if she wasn’t capable of controlling Mjøtuor as effectively as Loki could.    
    Celia turned to the stereo.  As she reached for the remote control on the coffee table to change the disc to something less maudlin than Tom Waits -- something to help her clear her mind and think of what to do -- the pink StarkPhone caught her eye.  And it gave her an idea.  
    There were almost certainly details of this deal Loki had struck with his mysterious ally that he was keeping from Celia.  And she decided that, if he did not see fit to share them with her, she should not be under any obligation to honor them.  The only way to get a handle on this situation was to unravel her own goals from Loki’s.  Frankly, Celia didn’t care if he took Vanaheim from Odin.  She certainly had no love for the Allfather.  Loki could have it, but Celia refused to allow her parents‘ rescue to be conditional upon giving Loki that throne.  She’d already given him use of Mjøtuor.  That was enough.  That had been their agreement.  And now, he would keep his promise to help her because Celia would force his hand.    
    Her idea was more devious, more _Loki-ish_ than outright betrayal.  How could he blame her for trying, really?  Celia rationalized that Loki could probably handle whatever space-time untidiness might result from her idea.  And it would be another opportunity for him to pass the unspoken test Celia had put forth for him, to prove that he cared enough about her to keep his promise even if it came with no greater reward than her reciprocal affection.  
    A glance over her shoulder told Celia that Loki was still in a deep sleep and had not noticed her movement.  She turned, pocketed her phone, and crept down the hall into her parents’ bedroom.  
  



	22. The Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, there is breakfast. But do not let Loki cook it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's enthusiasm for breakfast meat is inspired by Young Avengers.

* * *

 

    original courage is good,  
motivation be damned,  
and if you say they are trained  
to feel no pain,  
are they guaranteed this?  
is it still not possible  
to die for somebody else?  
  
-Charles Bukowski, “On the Fire Suicides of the Buddhists,” 1969

  
    Celia sat on the floor of her parents’ bedroom, staring at the phone in her hands until the status of the text message she’d just sent to her mother’s phone went from “sending” to “delivered.”    
    There.  It was done.  
    She wasn’t sure if her mother would actually get the text, not sure if the paused moment in time would allow it to appear on an object Celia herself was not touching.  But she hoped it would.  She believed it had a good chance, because when she’d called her mother’s phone a moment ago, the voicemail picked up.    
    Celia had found herself unable to leave a voice message, rendered mute by the overwhelming sound of her mother’s gentle, lilting voice saying, “Please leave your message for Audrey Andersen.”  Celia hadn’t heard that sound in two years.  After the accident, she’d continued paying her parents’ cell phone bill for months, to keep their phones active so she could call them and listen to their voices on their outgoing messages.  Pretend they might hear the messages she left for them.  “I love you,” or “I’m sorry,” or even just a litany of her day as though they had picked up and asked how she was.  Like everything was normal.  
    If this text went through, maybe everything would be normal again.  

* * *

  
  
    Loki could feel his consciousness pulling him out of sleep.  He struggled against it, resisting wakefulness and turning deeper toward his dream.  He wanted to wrap it around himself like a blanket and enjoy every last bit of its warmth.    
    In the dream, he stood in a fire-lit room with Celia.  She wore a shimmering silver dress and the forget-me-not flower crown from the market.  Her golden hair and smiling face were swathed in a foamy white veil.  Loki thought it was odd that in a dream where everything seemed a little too perfect, a little too shiny, Celia became entangled in the long veil when she tried to lift it over her head.  That made it seem very real.  They both laughed as Loki stepped forward to help unwind the gossamer tulle from her arms.  And then, her arms were around him, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to reach his lips for a kiss.    
    “You’re breaking the rules,” dream-Celia scolded.    
    “Is this my punishment?” he teased with a grin.  This was their game, Celia “punishing” Loki’s mischief with a kiss.  It had started with their first kiss over the tafl game.  That seemed so long ago.  Somehow in the logic of the dream Loki knew they did this all the time.  And it was comforting because, in the back of his mind, it reassured Loki that Celia loved him, mischief and all.  
    But now he was beginning to wake, and the full, joyful feeling of being loved by her was fading like the light at the moment the sun sets behind the horizon.  Loki fought to dwell in the twilight of the dream.  It felt so certain here, and in reality he was not so sure he deserved it.  To feel the difference was a cold, uncomfortable realization.  What had he done to deserve Celia’s love?  He had not once been able to bring himself to be entirely truthful with her.   
    As Loki trudged back to consciousness, he reached up automatically to entwine his fingers into Celia’s hair and realized that she was not there.  
    A jolt of adrenaline electrified his body.  Loki leapt to his feet, wide awake.    
     _“Celia?”_ he called, his voice urgent with worry.  After a glance around the still and silent room, he rushed down the hall.  
    “I’m in here.”  
    Loki burst into the room on the left.  “Seelie,” he breathed with relief, sinking to the floor beside her.  She didn’t move, didn’t look at him.  Just stared at her trembling hands.  And then he noticed that she held her phone between them.  He reached out and firmly covered her hands with his.  “Celia, what have you done?”  
    He felt her grip the phone tighter to stop the trembling, and then she looked at him and smiled.  “Nothing,” she said brightly.  “I was just...”  Celia looked around the room.  “You know, I never changed a thing in this room from today until...well, the day you showed up.”  
    “I know.  I’m sorry.”  
    “I guess everything in my whole world changed the day you showed up.”  
    “I’m sorry,” Loki said again.  
    “But, we can put it back,” Celia began, still smiling, her voice full of hope.  “Maybe.”  
    Loki felt his face fall as though weighed down by the words he had to say to her, words he feared would break her heart.  Celia seemed to catch them as they fell.  
    “No,” she said, her smile falling away.  She sighed.  “We can’t.  I know we can’t really.  Not the way it was before.  I’ll know, won’t I?  I’ll always know.”  
    “I’m sorry.”  Loki couldn’t think of anything else to say.  Rather, there was too much to say, and he didn’t know where to begin.  Had something changed?  Maybe bringing Celia here helped her to understand that what she wanted was just this side of impossible, but still very far off.  Maybe too far.  
    Celia plastered her smile back onto her face.  “How are you feeling?”  She reached out and caressed Loki’s arm, where a thick scar was the only hint that mere hours before he’d been seriously wounded in that exact spot.    
    “Better.  And you?”  
    Celia shrugged.  “I don’t feel like I’m going to puke any more but I’d say my face has seen better days.”    
    Loki cupped her chin carefully.  He closed his eyes so she wouldn’t see them go red, but there was nothing to be done about the momentary blue that mottled his skin as he allowed a block of ice to form in his palm.  Then he rolled down Celia’s sleeve so it fell over her hand, wrapped the ice in the excess fabric, and pressed it to her swollen cheek.    
    “Thanks,” she said, the smile finally reaching her eyes.  “So, where are we headed now?  I’m guessing we shouldn’t stick around here forever.”  
    Loki was not about to let her change the subject.  He gently took the phone from Celia.  “What have you done with this?”  
    “I was just going to put it back, Lo, I swear,” she insisted, without hesitation.  
    Loki examined Celia’s face, searching for the signs of deception he knew so well.  He ought to, he’d invented half of them.  There were tears in Celia’s eyes that she fought back with her stiff smile, but if any deceit hid behind that earnestness, Loki could not detect it.    
    Celia placed one hand on Loki’s bare chest and spread her fingers wide over his heart.  “You don’t have to apologize, you know.  There are some things that I wouldn’t want to change, if this is the way things have to be.  Like, meeting you.”  
    “I brought all of this upon you,” Loki argued.  
    “You only showed me what was already here.”  
    “Perhaps you were better off not knowing.”  
    Celia pulled her hand away.  “Are you saying you regret meeting me?”  
    “No, Seelie, I...” Loki stammered.  He took her hand, brought it back to hold over his heart.  “I only mean to say that I regret all of the danger and sorrow I have heaped upon you, now that you know.”  
    “I can take care of myself.”  
    “I know.”  _That’s what I’m afraid of._

* * *

  
  
    After much debate, Loki and Celia decided that they would return to Asgard, but that they would go to the island fortress in the Sea of Space where Loki had previously been under house arrest, rather than back to their rooms at the palace.  Loki would encase the fortress in a time-warped field, a bubble in which time could be manipulated relative to the time outside the boundary.  This would allow them to remain hidden from Heimdall’s gaze and render the fortress impenetrable by those inhabiting the space-time field of Asgard.  From there, they could strategize, form a plan to fulfill the terms of Loki’s mysterious ally whom he still refused to name.        
    Now that Celia felt like she’d taken matters into her own hands, she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed by Loki’s evasiveness about the deal he’d made.  Except for a brief outburst to demonstrate “The Time Warp” (“It’s just a jump to the left...  And then a step to the ri-i-i-i-ight...  No?  It’s a dance...  Okay, nevermind...”) she was only half-listening to the plan.  She nodded at what she hoped were the right moments and mentally writhed with anxiety over the text.  Would it reach her mother?  Would it change anything?  Would she be able to tell, as though her broken heart might simply mend itself, the cosmic injustice never taking place?  She would give it twelve hours, and then she would insist that Loki send her back home to find out.    
    Her parents had been at their vacation place in the Berkshires -- the accident occurred on their drive home, when a sudden, severe thunderstorm swept across New England and felled trees all along the Taconic State Parkway.  Maybe they still would have been hit by the drunk driver if the roads had been clear.  Maybe the storm would have caused the drunk driver to swerve into them even if he’d been stone cold sober.  There was no telling what might have been.      In the text she’d sent, Celia had simply begged her parents to stay for one more night.  She said that she’d scored tickets for a sold-out performance tomorrow night at Jacob’s Pillow and that she’d take the train up tomorrow afternoon to meet them.  She couldn’t imagine them refusing.  It had been such an easy lie.  Maybe it would save their lives.  
    Twelve hours should be enough time for things to fall into place.  Then, she would simply tell Loki that people were sure to have alerted the authorities regarding her sudden disappearance, especially considering the damage that Chitauri soldier had done to her apartment, and her call to 911 when she thought Loki was a burglar.  She’d go home and straighten things out and then he could bring her back.  Or...maybe not.  What did Celia care for his mysterious, powerful ally once she had already fixed things all on her own?  
    And yet, she felt like she’d want to come back.  To see him.  It saddened her to think of never seeing Loki again.  If things worked out and her parents were restored, she would happily strategize with Loki to put _them_ forward to challenge Odin’s claim to Vanaheim.  And if things didn’t work out and they remained dead?  _Guess I’ll be needing help from that ally after all._    
    It was nice to have a back-up plan for once.  It was nice to feel empowered.  Celia did not even feel the slightest bit guilty about lying to Loki.  He was, after all, the one who had established that dynamic between them.  He couldn’t hold it against her to look out for her own interests, not when he had a dozen secrets hidden up his sleeve.    
     _Well, maybe not up his sleeve at the moment, since he isn’t wearing a shirt._ But Celia was not quite sure she was prepared to go searching for secrets in Loki’s trousers.    
    “Why are you staring at me like that?” Loki interrupted Celia’s thoughts.  
    “Like what?” Celia squeaked, blushing so furiously her face felt hot.    
    Loki side-eyed her and tugged his shirt over his head.    
    When they were both ready to go, Loki held tightly to Celia and tapped the locket.  The sounds of summer in Manhattan surged back to life, only to be drowned out by the intense humming vibration that swept them back to present-day Asgard.

* * *

  
      
    The abandoned fortress was dank and cold.  Celia shivered, clinging to Loki and burying her face against him.  She was half attempting to steal his body heat and half hoping the pressure would stop the spinning in her head that brought back that awful, reeling nausea.  Celia didn’t even like flying in an airplane; she felt like she’d never get used to all this space-time travel.  
    “Are you alright?” Loki asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous stone hall where they’d appeared.  
    “I’ll be fine,” Celia said.  “I’m about seventy-two percent certain I’m not going to faint.”  
    Loki held her tighter.   His fingers brushed Mjøtuor and a subtle pulse, like the swell of a wave in shallow water, emanated from him.  The high, arched ceiling of the hall was badly damaged from the Chitauri attack, and when Celia looked up she caught a glimpse of the cosmos before whatever magic Loki made with the locket encased the fortress in a faintly orange-glowing halo that blurred and muffled the world beyond.  
    “You have to teach me how to do that,” Celia said.  
    Loki grinned.  “After breakfast.”  
    “Breakfast?  Well that’s definitely my favorite part of this plan.  What’s for breakfast?”  
    Celia followed Loki down to the kitchens, her thoughts on those delicious knots of bread she’d eaten her first morning here.  But when they investigated the larder, they found that all the bread was moldy.  The fresh fruit was also spoiled, but there was a sack of dried berries that looked okay.  Celia nibbled a handful while Loki inspected a crate of eggs.    
    “Do you think those are still good?” Celia asked between bites.  
    Loki shook an egg next to his ear.  “They seem to be.  Would you like some eggs?”  
    Celia giggled.  “You can make eggs?” she asked incredulously.    
    “Of course I can make eggs,” Loki scoffed.  “We don’t always have servants with us.  Sometimes we had to cook for ourselves on campaigns.”  But then he looked at the egg in his hand a little uncertainly.  “Usually it was Thor who did the cooking,” he admitted.  “Or Volstagg.  But how difficult could it be to make eggs?”    
    Loki had never made eggs before in his life.  He hadn’t often found himself on cooking duty in the field.  Not since that one time they’d let him make porridge and he burned it so badly it was practically fused to the pot, which they had to throw away.    
    “We should have hit a Starbucks on our way back,” Celia mused as she poked around a lumpy sack that smelled enticingly like coffee.  
    Loki bent low over the stove and then leapt back as flames roared to life.  
    “Oh, _that_ inspires confidence,” Celia teased him.  “Is your hair on fire?”  
    Loki threw a dried berry at her.    
    He found a kettle and got some water boiling, then stared at a frying pan for so long, Celia offered to help.  
    “We need some butter or something so the eggs don’t stick,” she explained, cracking some eggs into a bowl.  They found a crock of butter that looked a little weepy, but it didn’t smell spoiled so Celia plunked down a pat to melt in the pan while she scrambled the eggs with a wooden spoon.    
    “Is there any salt and pepper here?  These are going to be the blandest eggs ever.  Please do not judge my cooking by these eggs.”  Celia poured the eggs into the pan of bubbling butter and stirred, trying to think of a non-disgusting way to jazz up scrambled eggs with dried berries.  Loki peered over her shoulder.  
    “I could have done that,” he said, reaching around to present her with a steaming mug of the hot drink he’d managed to make.    
    Celia smiled without looking up from the eggs.  “It’s simplicity is deceptive.  The trick is not to overcook them.  Then they taste like rubber.  You want them fluffy.  But they’ll overcook in about two seconds if you aren’t careful.”  
    “Bacon!” Loki exclaimed.  “ _Overcooked_ bacon,” he added, in answer to Celia’s bewildered expression at this outburst over breakfast meat.  “They never let me make anything because I once burnt the porridge, but I can make bacon.  It is better when it’s a little burnt, don’t you agree?”  
    “Is there any bacon here?” Celia asked, her tone hopeful.  
    Unfortunately, there was not.  But Loki did find some salt, so the eggs were not half bad.  The two of them kicked off their boots and sat on the large wooden worktable, eating their breakfast and warming their feet in the residual warmth of the stove.  The domesticity of it felt almost comically out of place in the enormous Asgardian kitchen.    
    Loki stared at their row of feet propped against the edge of the stove.   _She made me eggs._   Had Celia really not heard him when he whispered that he loved her?  The image of her in the long veil from his dream flashed through his mind.  It was a nice idea, but it wasn’t his favorite image of Celia.  He flipped through his mental pictures of her -- wearing his green shirt, hair wild and face flushed in the woods, eyes shining beneath the glass flower crown, sleeping in his arms, staring at him from under a cascade of golden hair just before she kissed him.  There.  That one was his favorite.  
    Maybe he should tell her, and make sure that this time she heard him.  Then she might understand why he had to make that deal with Hela.  Celia would be angry with him if she felt like he was deceiving her or using her.  He realized that it might look that way if she didn’t know his real reasons.  Loki wasn’t trying to take anything from her -- the locket, her claim to Vanaheim.  Not any more.  He just...wasn’t sure he could lose her now.  And he couldn’t think of any other way to keep her.  Was that selfish?  It somehow felt selfish, but he would do anything for Celia.  To make her happy.  To be loved by her.  How could he make her know all this?  That he didn’t mean to be selfish, he just didn’t know what else to do.  Maybe he should tell her.    
    He nudged Celia’s foot with his.    
    “Yes?” She nudged back.  
    “I...” Loki began.  “I...”  
    Celia looked at him and smiled.    
    Loki lost his nerve.  “I... I like these eggs,” he finally said.  
    “Oh...  Well, good.”    
    After a few beats of awkward silence, Loki tried again.  “I...  Seelie, you know that I... “  
    He looked so tense, so terrified, that Celia decided to rescue him.  “That you’d starve without me?  Yes, I know.  Isn’t it lucky for you that I’m here and that I’m such an extraordinary cook?”  She knew that wasn’t what Loki was trying to say, but she just didn’t want to talk about anything serious right now.  For one thing, she was not good at those kinds of conversations, always letting her emotions overcome her reason, crying too easily.  For another, Celia didn’t want to tell Loki that she’d sent the text and she feared she’d be too honest with him if they started baring their souls to one another over scrambled eggs.  
    But Loki didn’t feel relieved that Celia headed off his attempt at a declaration of love.  He nudged her foot with his again.  “I _am_ lucky that you’re here,” he managed to say.    
  _I am a coward._  
 _I love you._  
  



	23. The Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, some things are worse than death.

* * *

Supposing that I should have the courage  
To let a red sword of virtue  
Plunge into my heart,  
Letting to the weeds of the ground  
My sinful blood,  
What can you offer me?  
A gardened castle?  
A flowery kingdom?  
  
What? A hope?  
Then hence with your red sword of virtue.  
-Stephen Crane, 1895

 

    Fortified by their breakfast, Loki and Celia trudged up the stairs to Loki’s rooms in search of warm baths and clean clothes.  The debris from the blasted out doors to the bedchamber left Celia with a gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach as they picked their way over the splintered planks.  They were hunted.  They were hiding.  Would she ever be safe again?  How long before Thanos would send someone after her for a third time, once she returned home?  
    Lost in her thoughts of impending doom and slightly woozy with exhaustion, Celia’s boot caught on a splintered board and she stumbled into Loki.    
    “You’re exhausted,” Loki pointed out, wrapping a steadying arm around her.  Celia rested her head on his shoulder.   “You should rest.”  
    “But my head...” Celia objected.    
    “Needs rest.”  
    Celia was still afraid to sleep.  She was positive she had a concussion or something, because if she closed her eyes for longer than a moment or two, she heard voices.  Or at least, _a_ voice.  A voice that was not her own, urgently whispering her name in her head.  It felt like an invasion of her mind, and it frightened her.  So she clung to the least frightening explanation, which was that Sindri had smacked her in the head really hard.  And you weren’t supposed to sleep if you had a concussion.  She’d learned that from watching medical dramas on TV.  _So it must be true, right?_    
    After getting cleaned up, Celia reached for a fresh green shirt in Loki’s dressing room to replace the tattered one she’d worn since she arrived in Asgard.  That first shirt now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.  Next to it, her discarded bathrobe from home was right where she left it, like a skin she had shed from an entirely other life, an entirely other Celia.  
    She knelt and picked up the torn, bloodstained shirt to hug against her chest.  Celia felt like it represented her new self, imbued with her bravery in the face of fantastical misadventures through time and space.  Imbued with Loki.  Celia closed her eyes and buried her face in the dingy green garment.  
    “ _Ceeeeeeeeeeeeeliiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaa_ ,” the voice in her mind hissed.  
    Her eyes flew open and she flung the shirt to the ground, as if the voice had come from inside it.  
    Loki’s laughter drifted into the room.  He leaned against the doorframe, wrapping a towel around his waist.  The locket gleamed copper against the white skin at his chest.  “I’m afraid none of the servants from the laundry remain on the island,” he said, misinterpreting her actions.  
    His near nakedness was a welcome distraction from hearing creepy voices.  Celia allowed her mind to shift its attention to what had become one of her favorite subjects since their stop at the apartment -- Loki without his shirt -- and a roguish smile played across her lips.  “Too bad I’m wearing your last clean shirt, you’ll just have to go topless.”  
    Not to be outdone, Loki folded his arms.  “Who said you could have it?” he said through a sly, wicked grin.  
    For a brief moment, Celia considered snatching away Loki’s towel, but she wasn’t sure she was that brave just yet.  As it happened, she didn’t have to be.  Loki casually dropped the towel and perused the shelves of his wardrobe for a moment before selecting a pair of soft woolen slacks and gracefully stepping into them.  
    Celia felt her face burn as she tried -- and failed -- to look anywhere but Loki’s muscled, nude backside.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.   _Now is not the time, remember?_   Time.  Time.  She had already wasted so much time.  How much time had passed since she sent the text?  _Enough time?_   Was it time for her to go home now?  
    “ _Ceeeeeeeeeeeeeliiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaa_.”  
    Celia’s eyes opened wide with fright and she wrenched forward as if something had punched her in the gut.  The voice was getting stronger.    
    Loki was at her side in an instant, on his knees so he could look into her face, his own drawn with concern.  “Seelie?”  
    She took a deep breath and forced a smile.  “It’s nothing.  Just...my head sort of aches.”  
    With a frown, Loki gently cupped Celia’s face in his hands and tilted it toward the light, staring into her eyes.  “I see no signs of a serious injury.  I think you are simply exhausted.  Rest,” he pleaded.    
    Celia shrugged off his ministration.  “I’ll be fine.  We have work to do.  I’ll feel better once we’ve figured out a plan.”      
    Loki looked like he was prepared to argue, so Celia leaned forward and kissed him to prevent any more discussion.  Still on his knees, Loki let his head tip back blissfully, savoring the brief kiss.  _Now.  Tell her now.  Tell her._  
    “Seelie, I...” he began.  
    She smoothed his hair back from his face and looked down at him expectantly.  He looked so very serious, as though he were about to confess something grave to her.  But Celia could see panic overcome the resolve in his eyes.  Loki sighed and looked away.  
    He still could not say it aloud.  “I...I have an idea.  Come with me.”  Disappointed in his cowardice, Loki got to his feet and stalked past Celia, out to the corridor without so much as a backward glance.  
    Celia shook her head.  _Come on, Lo_.  Did everything have to be a secret with him?  She hated this feeling that there was something important he wasn’t telling her.  _Again._   But he had gotten her this far, and she had her own secrets, so she buried her doubts and hurried after him.

* * *

  
  
    A roaring fire crackled in the library fireplace as Celia wandered the stacks looking for words and phrases on the spines of books that matched those Loki had written out for her and asked her to collect.  Actually, he’d asked her to lie down on the sofa and take a nap, and Celia had staunchly refused, insisting instead that he give her a task that would _help_.    
    Help with what, exactly, Celia wasn’t sure and Loki remained evasive on the subject.  But it kept her from closing her eyes, so it suited Celia fine.  Loki continued to be impressed by how quickly she was picking up Allspeak, at least in its written form, but she was still far from able to help him with the dense reading he had before him.  Once she had scoured the shelves for the books Loki needed, she perused them for some interesting volumes to take before the fire and amused herself with sussing out the captions of the moving pictures.  
    Loki smiled at Celia over his desk, watching her flip through the pages, and then back again when she recognized a word.  Then he returned to his own reading, _Our Glorious Allfather in Times of War_.  It was a history of Odin’s campaigns across the nine realms that brought peace -- or subjugation, depending on one’s perspective -- under his own ostensibly benign stewardship as highest being and Allfather.  Loki was looking for crucial moments he could visit using Mjøtuor to sow subtle seeds of discord, the benefit of which he might reap in the present for his own ends.  He suspected Asgardians would not welcome war, not if he brought it to their very doorstep.  Campaigns abroad, they supported unquestioningly, and gloried in pompous parades of martial might that commemorated their victories in other realms.  But when Loki reflected on how frightened and disgruntled the innkeeper back in the city had been that the Frost Giants and then the Chitauri had in rather quick succession disrupted life in Asgard, he knew he could use the threat of unrest to create a pressure point.  And then he would give Odin no choice but to recognize Celia as princess of Vanaheim.    
    It was the best plan Loki could think up given that he was loathe to put Celia into the line of fire directly, nor was he especially eager to alter the past so much it created an unrecognizable present.  This was the sort of thing Loki did best -- he’d simply line the players up on the board and then sit back and watch as everything erupted into chaos, leaving him free to saunter in and take what he wanted, unnoticed.  Not as flashy as stomping around calling lightening down from the sky, but it could be just as effective.  
    And Celia would, with any luck, stay out of danger.  Loki looked up to see if she’d made much progress with her book.  She was curled up on it like a pillow, sound asleep.  She looked so small, so fragile, that a sudden wave of icy apprehension swept through Loki and left him numb.  Since when did he have it in him to love something so _finite?_   Why was he going to all this trouble for her?  She was so impermanent, and didn’t he have what he wanted already?    
     _No._   Loki had to admit to himself that he did not.  Worse, he had more to lose now than he ever had before.  It wasn’t just Hela’s threat hanging over him.  If he did not fulfill his promise to Celia, she would certainly despise him.  And he normally wouldn’t care about something so sentimental, if it weren’t for the uncomfortable realization that then he would know with absolute certainty that he was the most hopeless, unlovable, wretched creature in the nine realms.  The transactional nature of his feelings for Celia didn’t sit quite right with him, but this felt like his last chance for real power, not taken but rightfully earned.

* * *

  
  
    “ _Ceeeeeeeellllliiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaa_.”  
    The voice was everywhere now.  _Open your eyes, open your eyes_ , Celia pleaded with herself, to no avail.  Exhaustion had overcome her and she was buried under a deep sleep.  
    “ _Ceeeeeeeellllliiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaa_.”  
    Everything was black, everything was nothing, except for the voice.    
    Maybe she should answer it.  
    “Who’s there?” she called, trying to sound unafraid.  
    “Ceeellliiiaaaa,” the voice sounded less omnipresent now.  “What have you done, child?”  
    “Who are you?”  
    “Urðr, I am Urðr the Norn from whom you sought council at the World Tree.”  
    Celia’s mind seemed to relax at this, and the darkness of it felt less strangling as the old woman’s form materialized before her inner eye.  “Urðr,” she whispered with relief.  “What are you doing here?  This doesn’t feel like I’m dreaming.”  
    “No,” Urðr confirmed.  “I’ve come to warn you, child.”  
    The darkness constricted again, matching Celia’s panic.  “Warn me about what?  What happened?  Is it...did my text go through?”  
    “It did.  Only it did not bring about the outcome I expect you intended.”  
    “So, they’re still dead?”  
    “Worse,” the Norn said shortly.    
     _“Worse?”_ Celia repeated in disbelief.  “What could be worse?”  
    “Taken,” Urðr said.  “Your mother has been taken.  By Thanos.  And now, Death is furious at the imbalance you have wrought in her design.  She will be coming for you if she cannot persuade the Titan to relinquish his prize.”  
    Celia felt like she was clawing at the edges of her mind, trying to escape from this nightmare she had created by her own recklessness.  _I should have listened to Loki._   “Thanos just wants the stone, right?  And the locket?  He can have them!  I’ll trade them for my mother!  I don’t care!”  
    “You have already given them to the Jotun prince,” Urðr reminded her.  “And such a trade would do little to reset the balance of things in any case.  It would only make things worse.  Thanos must not get the stone.  He would wreck unimaginable havoc on the universe.  Your mother is the least of your concerns now.”  
    “Like hell!” Celia cried.  _Wake up, Celia, wake up_ , she begged, desperate for Loki.  He would know what to do.  
    “You really trust the god of chaos?” observed Urðr with surprise.    
    “ _Get out of my head_ ,” Celia screamed.  But then the implication of the question sunk in.  “Wait, no, hold on.  What do you mean?  Why shouldn’t I trust him?  Do you know something about it that I don’t?”  
    Urðr hesitated.  “Only that, even his love for you comes from a place of self-interest.  Loki is essentially a selfish creature.  He may not mean any malice, but it is his nature to be so.  What he believes is love for you is really love for how powerful you make him feel, how self-important.  What more, I cannot say.  Skuld refuses to share her gifts of the future-sight to reveal how it will end.  She’ll never forgive you that little scene over her gift.”  
     _Petty bitch_ , Celia thought bitterly, recalling the Norn of the future and her cruel laughter.  “ _It will end you,_ ” Skuld had prophesied to Loki when he wouldn’t return her embraces.  What did that mean in light of what Urðr had just revealed?  
    Celia felt completely defeated, but she rallied to defend Loki.  “Maybe it was like that for him in the past, but how can you be sure that he still sees it that way?” she asked, her voice small.  “You don’t know the present or the future, right?”  
    “I cannot be sure of anything but the past.  I only intend to warn you inasmuch as I am able.”    
    “So what am I supposed to do?”  
    Celia’s question was met with only empty silence.  Urðr was gone.  She was alone in her head again, bound by a fresh tangle of worries and renewed fear that Loki wasn’t to be trusted.

* * *

  
  
    Celia dragged open her eyes and stared at the fire for a moment.  _No more secrets._   Loki was just going to have to trust her as much as he was asking her to trust him.  He would tell her everything or else she...she would...  She wasn’t sure what she could do if he refused, but it was at the very least going to involve a lot of yelling.  
    “Loki,” she called, not stirring from her book.  Not knowing how to move without some sure course of action.  The tightness of her tone, strained over such monumental panic, brought Loki quickly to her side.  Her use of his full name, rather than her nickname for him, boded ill.  
    “Is something wrong?” he asked, reaching out to her.  She sat up and abruptly wriggled away from him.  
    “What is your plan, Loki?” she cooly demanded, trying to remain calm and give him a chance to prove wrong Urðr’s warning.  She wouldn’t reveal to him any of the things the Norn had told her, give him no thread of information he might take and weave into a pretty lie.  
    When Loki said nothing, Celia’s resolve crumbled.  _“Tell me!”_ she shouted, her eyes glazed over with anguish.  
    They had been here before.  Loki knew he wasn’t being fair.  He was intimately familiar with that anguish, with the torment of ice freezing your chest as you hold your breath and give someone you desperately want to love enough rope to hang himself with, waiting to see if they would throw it around your own neck instead.  Could he continue doing to Celia what Odin had done to him?  Could he justify lying to her for her own protection any longer?  
    “Celia,” he whispered.  “Please know that all of this has been for you.”  
    “No, Loki, no preamble.  Just tell me.”  
    With a sinking heart, he outlined for Celia his deal with Hela, who would agree to claim Celia in the event of her death if she were recognized as Vanir royalty in Asgard, and had intimated that she would bestow upon Celia a proper Vanir lifespan, but that the deal had an expiration date.  Loki left out the addendum that put his own soul in bondage should he fail.  He then explained to Celia that he’d not wanted her to try anything rash or dangerous to achieve such a status, because with Mjøtuor and a little delicate finessing, this could all be arranged behind the scenes and Loki -- god of mischief, was he not? -- knew just how to make it all happen in a way that would keep her from any harm.  When Celia demanded more, he shared with her his plan to force Odin’s hand by subtly weakening his bonds of power over subjugated realms in the past.  
    “If he is left with recognizing you or subduing a Vanir rebellion in Asgard,” Loki finished, “he will have no choice.  It will work, Seelie.  I know it will.”  
    Celia nodded.  Her lips were white and trembling as she said, “Maybe it will work.  But you know, Loki, I don’t hear _anything_ in _any of that_ about actually helping my parents.  I don’t want to be princess of anywhere!  I just want my family.  This sounds more like you helping yourself to some of the power your father has now.  And I get it, Odin is a complete bag of dicks!  It isn’t right, what he does.  But it just sounds a whole lot like you’re using me.  Hey, what else is new, right?  I cannot believe I trusted you.”    
    Loki wanted to put his arms around her, to convince her that it wasn’t like that, but her disgusted glare rooted him to the floor.    
    “Anyway, that doesn’t matter now,” Celia continued, her tone biting and imperious.  “You’re going to give me back the locket and I’m going to rescue my mother from Thanos and take us home and you can burn Asgard to the ground for all I care.”  
    “Seelie,” Loki finally managed to choke out.  “Rescue your mother from...?  What _happened_ while you slept?  I don’t understand.”  
    Celia crossed her arms over her chest.  “She said you’d see it that way.”  
    And then Celia burst into tears.  
    Loki climbed over the book and pulled her into his arms.  She didn’t resist.  She didn’t _want_ any of this to be true.  The Loki she thought she knew and the one she had been cautioned against didn’t seem to line up, the jagged pieces jutting out and rasping her heart raw.  
    “My mother,” she sobbed into his neck.  “They took her, they took her.  I was just trying to help.  I just wanted to save them.”  
    “Who told you these things, Seelie?”  
    Celia took a deep breath and looked Loki in the eye.  _No more secrets._   “Urðr.  She came to me in my sleep, somehow.  She said that Thanos kidnapped my mom and that you only love--” Celia stopped short.  She couldn’t say that part of it right now.  “...that I shouldn’t trust you because everything you do for me is really just for yourself.”  Before Loki could address this charge, Celia rushed on.  “But Loki, listen to me.  Maybe that’s how it was when we first met, I get it, okay?  I didn’t care then, as long as you helped me.  And Urðr only knows the past, so maybe that’s all she sees when she looks back at us.  It isn’t that way any more, right?  Please...” she trailed off, her unspoken request hanging between them.  _Please truly love me._  
    But there were more pressing secrets to sort out.    
    “Did the Norn tell you how Thanos was able to capture your mother?  I don’t understand, Death would never allow such a transgression, even from a powerful being like Thanos.”  
    Now Celia could not look at Loki.  She sheepishly confessed to the forbidden text message.  “I guess it worked, because the accident didn’t happen.  But...yeah...I made everything a thousand times worse, didn’t I?”  
    Loki sighed and smoothed Celia’s hair back from her tearstained face.  “This is why I did not want you involved.  You are so reckless.”  The irony of the god of mischief, of all people, delivering this reproach was not lost on Loki.  And he did not entirely mean it as a chastisement.  He loved this about Celia.  
    Celia thought she was being scolded.  “I just wanted to _do something_.”  
    “You really don’t trust me?” he whispered.  
    “I want to, Lo, it’s just...” Celia put her arms around him and nestled her head against his shoulder, as if to comfort him while she admitted the harsh truth of the matter.  “You make it really difficult sometimes.”  
    Here it was again.  The sort of pitying love Loki resented from Frigga, from Thor.  Now, from Celia, too.  It was unbearable, and he brought it on himself.  Maybe he really was just too difficult to love.  But for once, Loki felt like he could look down at it from the lofty perspective of the moral high ground, so he beat a hasty retreat to that vantage point in an attempt to rise above the pain.  “You lied to me.  About the phone.”  
    “Yes.  You were being so secretive about everything and I felt like I had to do something.”  
    They sat before the fire in silence for a few moments, wrapped in one another’s arms, processing the disaster they had brought about with the push and pull of their undeclared love for and simultaneous distrust of one another.  For Celia, there was nothing more to say.  She wouldn’t apologize for taking action, she was only sorry it had gone so horribly wrong.  Now she was beholden to Loki more than ever, now her mother was in an even worse predicament than before.  She had ruined everything.  
    If she’d voiced this despair to Loki, he would have fought her to claim responsibility for the total ruination of things.  His momentary sojourn to the moral high ground had been too lonely, a cold comfort.  He’d forced Celia’s hand because he had been unwilling to give back to her the trust he’d expected her to freely give him.  She deserved more from him.    
    And now it was time, for once in his long life, to be selfless.  He had promised to do this for her, and he would do it.  Because he loved her, and he would rather see her secure and happy than continue feeding off her strung along affections like some loathsome parasite.  It was the only thing left for him to do.  He did not care if ended him.  Better this than to wither away, slowly desiccated by self-loathing.  
    “I’ll go and get your mother,” he said softly, resolutely.  “And then I’ll send you both home.  I’ll make sure they don’t come after you.  I won’t interfere with your life.  You have my word.  I’m sorry about all of this, Seelie.  This has been my fault since the moment I saw you.  I shouldn’t have brought you into any of it.”  
    “Lo...” she started.  
    He was unwrapping her arms from around his neck.  “If I do not return,” he said as he stood, “then you must go to Thor.  He will help you.”  
    “Wait...”  
    He had to tell her now.  He may not get another chance.  “Seelie, no matter what happens, you must know that I lo...”  
  _Boom.  Boom.  Boom._  
    Something -- or someone -- pounded on the library door three times.  Loki put himself between Celia and the door, his heart pounding in syncopation with the knocks that reverberated in his chest.  What manner of being was powerful enough to have broken through the warped time field encasing the fortress?  
   _Boom.  Boom.  Boom._  
    Celia rose from the floor and entwined her fingers with Loki’s.  His hands were shaking.    
     _Boom.  Boom.  Boom._  
    Then the handle turned and the door pushed open to reveal a gaunt woman robed in black so dark it seemed to leech all the light from the room.  Celia stared at the woman’s pale face, which vacillated between one of beauty and one of skeletal terror if she looked too long without blinking.  
    “Mistress Death,” Loki whispered.  “No.”  
  



	24. The Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Celia understands.

* * *

It appears to me impossible that I should cease to exist, or that this active, restless spirit, equally alive to joy and sorrow, should only be organised dust — ready to fly abroad the moment the spring snaps, or the spark goes out which kept it together. Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable, and life is more than a dream.  
-Mary Wollstonecraft, ‘Letters,’ 1796

 

    “Foolish girl,” Death intoned, gliding into the room.  Her voice sounded like every audio frequency possible converged into one, and yet she seemed to merely breathe the words into being.  Celia’s entire body tingled uncomfortably as Death approached.  Some force compelled her to look into Death’s face, but in the back of her mind, Celia cried out to herself to resist the pull.  She closed her eyes.  
    “Your heedless meddling in time has wrought profound imbalance in my design,” Death accused, “and for this I condemn your soul to eternity in oblivion; alone, wandering, empty.  Step forward.”  
    Startled by this command, Celia instead tucked her body behind Loki’s, who held fast to her hand.  Did people just go willingly when Death informed them that she intended to consign them to an eternity in oblivion?   
    “He cannot save you.  Step forward.”  
    “Mistress Death, please,” Loki pleaded.  “Give us time to make things right.  She meant no harm.  I’m sure we can restore your balance.  I have the Time Gem.”  
    Death paused momentarily, her eyes flashing brilliant orange before fading back to their eerie, colorless void.  She shook her head.  “It is beyond that now.  Step forward, girl, and look upon me.”  
    “No, Seelie, do not look at her,” Loki said, tightening his hold on her.  
    But Celia couldn’t stop it.  The very molecules of her body seemed to obey Death’s command regardless of the revulsion she felt as she opened her eyes and peered around Loki’s protective stance.  Her gaze locked with Death’s empty eyes, which reflected Celia back to herself like two piercing mirrors.  The library crackled out of existence and Celia’s life began to flash before her like a moving picture.  
    Warm, safe in her bed.  Her mother singing a lullaby, _“Your mother shakes the dreamland tree, and from it fall sweet dreams for thee.”_   The song is as soft as her blankets, as gentle her mother’s comforting embrace.  
    Nestled against her father’s side in the old leather chair in his office.  He is reading her stories she doesn’t understand, _The Old Man and the Sea_.  She soaks in the cadence of his voice while the meaning of the words he speaks slip through her mind like water in a receding tide.  
    Attempting a wild, twisting dismount on the beam at her gymnastics lesson -- too high, too fast.  She lands hard and out of control on her elbow.  The fall should have broken her arm and everyone is shocked and relieved when she merely springs to her feet and takes a grand, sweeping curtsey, no worse for wear.   
    “Hello,” says a shy voice, “my name’s Jenny.  The teacher said I’m supposed to be your lab partner.”  Bonding in detention after a relatively minor explosion in chemistry class, caused by skipping steps deemed boring and unnecessary by an impatient Celia.  Steady, even-tempered Jenny tries to cover for her.  Best friends forever.  
     _Celia, please!  Please hear me.  Don’t go with her.  Please!  No, no, stop!  Please do not do this.  Please do not take her like this._    
    A voice cuts into the moving pictures.  It does not belong to them.  It is filled with anguish, desperate and grasping.    
 _Please!  Do not do this.  Take me in her stead._  
 _Your soul is not mine to take.  Why should I do such a thing?_  
 _Because...because I love her._  
 _And what care have I for such sentiment?_  
    The moving pictures of her life dissolved, and Celia realized she was still in the library.  Loki still clung to her, and she appeared to have dragged him halfway across the room in her advance toward Death.  Celia looked from Loki to Death now, trying to understand what was happening.  Had Loki just said that he loved her?  Had he just offered to take her place in an empty eternity?    
    Celia reached out and touched a single tear before it fell from Loki’s cheek.  “Lo?”   
    His entire body trembled but he tried to smile at her.  “It will be alright,” he whispered.  Then he turned to Death.  “My soul is my own.  I may do with it what I will.  The reason changes nothing for you.  Surely the weight of it balances those of three mortals.  Let Celia and her parents return to their lives.  Take me in their stead.”  
    Loki had never been so afraid.  He had never considered that he might one day cease to exist -- there was always the afterlife and any number of rebirth schemes he could take comfort in.  But he realized also with a heady rush that he had never felt as powerful as he did in this moment.  Something unthinkable may be about to happen to him but he knew he could not live a single hour, much less the rest of his long lifetime, knowing that the one person whose love he valued most had been eradicated from the universe.    
    At least this way, she would love him forever because of the sacrifice he made.  Even if he, himself, no longer existed, Loki could think of nothing so powerful as that legacy.  And he was so tired, so weary of struggling every day of his interminable life for the meager scraps of dignity and eminence he so desperately craved.  Better that his memory be preserved in the amber of love with this sacrifice than to waste away a little each day over thousands of years of life.  
    Celia threw her weight against Loki in an attempt to push him away from Death.  _“No!”_ she cried.  “Loki, no!  Stop!  I didn’t ask you to do this.  We’ll think of something else.  _You can’t do this.  Stop!”_ Her words were absorbed by her sobs.  She broke down crying, shoving Loki back, pounding her fists against his chest, anything to make him stop this.  
    Loki took her hands in his and pressed them to his lips.  “Let me do this, Seelie.  I must do this.  I am so sorry, for everything.  I wish we’d had more time together.  I should have told you before that I love you so dearly.  I hope that you knew it already.  I love you.”  
    He unclasped Mjøtuor and placed it in Celia’s hands.  “Take this to Thor.  He will help you save your mother.  He will protect you all on Earth.”  Gathering Celia close to kiss her -- passionately at first, then lingering on her mouth, then burying his face in her hair -- Loki tried to memorize everything about her he loved so much.    
    Celia pulled away.  “Loki, stop.  I didn’t ask you to do this.  And I don’t love you back, okay?  So you can’t do this for me!  Because I’ll hate you!  _I hate you don’t do this_ ,” she sobbed.  
    Loki knew her cutting words were calculated to sway his resolve, a lie for his own good.  He cast it aside and embraced Celia again.  Like most lies, it was easily overshadowed by the truth, now that the truth was in plain view.  “I love you, Seelie,” he whispered.  It was amazing how easy it was to finally say.  He wished he’d said it a thousand times before.  Too late for that now.  
    Celia looked up at him, her eyes brimming with distress, her face twisted and tearstained.   “Lo, _damn you_.  I love you, too.  I always will, do you understand me?  No matter what.  Please don’t do this.  _You don’t have to do this to make me love you_.”  
    “I tire of your sentiment,” Death cut in.  “Step forward, Loki.  It is time.”  
    Loki gave Celia a final kiss, and then turned towards Death.    
     _Time_ , the word reverberated urgently in Celia’s mind.  _Time_.  
    It is time.  
    She looked at her hands and remembered the stone inside the locket.  She was holding the power to control time, and she was not going to let this happen now.   
     _“STOP!”_ Celia shouted.  She felt something burst in her hands, like a thousand tiny fireworks erupting inside the locket.  The metal seared her skin but she did not let go.  It seemed important that she hold onto something as the world came grinding to a halt and then simply...disappeared.  

* * *

  
  
    Celia looked around, trying to get her bearings.  Every direction stretched out in endless, white nothingness.  She was not even standing on anything, yet she did not fall.  
    And then, a specter appeared before her.  The outlines of a woman shifted in and out of focus, but the two mirrored eyes reflecting Celia back to herself were unmistakably Mistress Death’s.   
    “You are more powerful than I realized,” Death said.  
    “What...what happened?  Where are we?”  
    “You have pulled us out of time and space itself.  You must love him very much.”  
    Celia stared at her reflection in Death’s eyes.  She no longer looked pitiful and heartbroken.  She looked furious and strong.  “You have taken _everything_ from me,” she said.    
    “I take.  It is the way of things.  _You_ have taken from _me_ , which is unnatural and wrong.  I merely seek recompense for my loss.  It is not for me to see that you have the things you value, only to take what is necessary to preserve the balance.”  
    A throbbing pain in the palms of her hands reminded Celia that she still had something of value, only it didn’t mean nearly as much to her as it seemed to mean to everyone else.  And then, she knew what she could do to save herself and the people she loved.  
    “Why don’t you control this stone?” Celia asked, holding up the locket.  “It seems to me that the only one who should have this much power over time is Death.”  
    Death’s eyes shimmered with orange, and she almost imperceptibly reached toward Celia’s outstretched hand.  “I cannot take what is not mine.  It would upset the balance.”  
    “I’ll give it to you now in exchange for me, my parents, and Loki.  We all walk free, and you get the Time Gem.”  Celia pried open Mjøtuor’s clasp as best as she was able with her burnt hands.  When she peered inside the locket, her heart sank to see nothing but a heap of brilliant orange shards and dust.  The stone had shattered.  Celia looked at Death, the panic renewed in her face.  
    “You fractured the gem when you ripped time to bring us here,” Death observed.  
    Before Celia could formulate another bargain to strike, Death continued.  “I can repair the stone.  But a shattered Time Gem does not balance against the four of you.  Instead I offer you this choice: you may go free with Loki now, or you may return home and be with your parents in the alternate timeline you created to bring them back.”  
    A surge of hope raced through Celia.  She opened her mouth, prepared to accept the offer of her parents without hesitation.  This had all been for them, after all.  But the surge of hope broke against the block of ice that sunk in her belly when she realized she would be consigning Loki to oblivion, and she wasn’t sure how she would live with that.  _It’s his choice_ , Celia thought.  
     _No_ , she argued with herself.  _Something about this isn’t right_.  
    “What do you mean when you say, the alternate timeline I created when I brought them back?” Celia asked.  
    Death’s barely corporeal form seemed to shrug.  “Who can know for certain?  A small change in one moment can enact far-reaching consequences.  You must decide if you are prepared to accept those consequences in order to be reunited with your parents.”  
    “Thanos has taken my mother.”  
    “Perhaps your powerful new Asgardian friends will help you to rescue her, if indeed they are able in the new time you have made.”  
    Celia felt like she was going to hyperventilate.  There wasn’t enough air in this uncanny white void.  _What have I done?_   She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down.  “Are you saying that sending that text message altered the whole Nine Realms?”  
    “There are some in your world who understand this.  I believe they call it ‘the butterfly effect?’  You flapped your wings, little butterfly.  I cannot promise that you did not cause a typhoon on the other side of the multiverse.  Or perhaps even your own.  But what wouldn’t you do to have your parents back with you?”  
    The dizzy feeling that preceded fainting swirled in Celia’s head, tingled in her limbs.  There was no gravity here in this in-between place, so she did not collapse.  Instead, she curled in on herself and sobbed.  She cried as though her very heart would tumble out of her chest with every heave while her body exorcized the overwhelming grief that buried her once she understood that she really had no choice.  Her parents did not raise her to be this selfish.  They would never want her to have to make such a choice, and would never want her put reality in jeopardy simply to bring them back from the dead.  They would never want her to live with the guilt of creating a timeline of turmoil.    
    And then she realized that her parents would want more than anything for her to be okay.  They would want her to live and love and become whoever she was going to be in this life.  They knew that she loved them, whatever she might have said in the heat of their last moments together.  The choice before her was not a test of her love for them.  There would be no redemption in it.    
    Celia wasn’t choosing between Loki and her parents.  It wasn’t a choice so much as it was an opportunity.  She had to say goodbye to them and let them go and then she had to go on living.  This wasn’t something that was being done _to her._   It was simply something she had to do.  
    Death patiently waited while Celia cried herself out.  Then, galvanized by her understanding, Celia seized the opportunity and forged her own terms.  She stared boldly at her own reflection in Death’s eyes.  She hardly recognized herself.  “I will give you the pieces of the Time Gem.  You will put things right with time.  Go back and make sure they never get the text.  Whatever you have to do.  Thanos never takes my mother.  Loki and I walk.  Everything back the way it was.  Will that even things out?”  
    “This is what you really want?” Death asked.  
    “I think it’s what _they_ would have wanted for me,” Celia confirmed.  “Yes.  It is also what I want.”  
    Her eyes ablaze in orange, Death manifested her hands and Celia tipped the pieces of the stone into the clammy, cupped palms.   
    “You shall make a wise Queen one day, Princess of Vanaheim,” Death said to her before dissolving into the void.  
    Celia closed the empty locket and hesitantly fastened it around her neck.  She had no idea how she was going to summon enough magic to get herself back to the fortress.  The locket tingled at her throat, but nothing happened.  Then, on the verge of panicking, she shut her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, wishing with all her might that she was with Loki.  When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the library.

* * *

  
  
    Loki knelt in the spot where Celia had vanished, holding his head in his hands, silently letting tears run down his face.  He hadn’t known that Celia pulled herself and Death out of time.  As much as he loved how brave and audacious she was, he couldn’t have imagined that she’d been able to summon the power to do such a thing.  He only saw the person he loved most in the Nine Realms vanish with Mistress Death, and found himself staring into the gaping maw of the rest of his life without her.  He had been denied even that noble gesture he had so wished would forever enshrine him as _worthy_ , powerful enough to bestow such a gift on the one he loved.  Reeling from the loss, Loki’s mind flooded with poisonous thoughts.    
    Now he was nothing to anybody except a disappointment and a nuisance to his family, who probably rued the day Odin ever brought him home from the Jotun temple.  Frigga’s constant fretting over him, Thor’s reproach, Odin’s bitter anger -- Loki knew they all thought him weak and useless and that they only tolerated him out of duty.  He burned with shame at the memory of his capture and torture by Thanos.  It had been his own fault that it happened.  His own fault, because he wasted so much energy trying to make them love him when he knew, _he knew the whole time_ that they didn’t really.  And then he learned why.  And he was so stupid to think he could ever prove himself to them.  He deserved the torture Thanos delivered.  And they would never understand what happened in New York, not like Celia understood.  
    They would never love him like she did.    
    “Lo,” Celia said.  
    He looked up at her.  His eyes were red.  Not red from crying.  Jotun red.  “Seelie?”  
    Celia threw herself at Loki, knocking him to the floor.  He wound one hand through her hair and the other around her waist to hold her against his chest until he was certain she was real.  When she looked up into his eyes again, they were back to pale blue and wore the expression of one staring at his very salvation.  
    “What happened?” he asked.  
    “I made a deal we could all live with.  Or at least, those of us who were meant to.”  Celia explained to Loki the bargain she’d struck with Death.  
    “Seelie, you _gave her_ the stone?”  
    “I did and won’t apologize for that.  You don’t need it and neither do I.  No one should have that kind of power over time.  But Death sort of already _does_.  She’ll take good care of it.”  
    Loki sighed.  He was desperately grateful that Celia was here with him but...  “All of this was to restore your parents and acquire the stone, and...I would have gone with her for you.”  
    “I know you would’ve, Lo.  But you have to understand, it isn’t fair to put that kind of guilt on someone you love.  I know that now.”  
    “You chose to save me instead of your parents.”  
    “No, I didn’t.  It wasn’t the right thing to do, changing time to bring them back.  I will always love them and always miss them but I can’t grieve forever and I can’t live in some fake time I made with my sadness.”  
    “Are you alright?” he asked her.    
    Celia nodded, having cried all her tears already.  “I think I will be.”  
    They lay on the floor before the fire, tracing the features on each other’s faces, wending their fingers into one another’s hair, brushing little kisses on lips, necks, wrists, earlobes.  Loki wanted to go and fetch ointment for the burns on Celia’s hands, but she didn’t want either of them to move just yet.  After a while, Celia said, “I’m sorry about what I said, Lo, when you were offering to take my place.  I’m sorry I said that I hated you.  I didn’t mean it.”  
    Loki smiled.  “I know.  You also said you love me.”  
    “I _did_ mean that,” Celia laughed.    
    “And I love you,” Loki said before immersing his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck.  
    This was blissful.  This was nourishing.  It felt happy.  It felt complete.  Maybe this was enough.  Maybe the stone wasn’t important, after all.  
     _Except._  
    Except that now Loki had no upper hand to play in the game with Hela.  How many days did he have left?  Three hundred and thirty-one?  Three hundred and thirty?  _Damn_.  He needed that stone or he was surely doomed to three millennia as Hela’s slave.  
    Loki still had not shared this part of the deal with Celia.    
    “What’s wrong?” Celia asked, noticing Loki suddenly seemed distracted.  
    Before he could answer, a voice boomed from somewhere in the fortress. _“Loki!  Show yourself, brother.”_  
    Loki stood and helped Celia to her feet.  “The warp field,” he said.  “Of course it disappeared with the stone.  Heimdall must see us now.”  
    They left the library and descended the grand staircase to the main hall, where Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and a host of Asgardian palace guards were gathered.  
    “No more games, Loki.  This cat-and-mouse has grown tiresome.  It’s as though you _want_ to be thrown in the dungeon,” said Thor, indicating that Loki should be apprehended.  
    Six guards stepped forward holding manacles.  Loki turned to kiss Celia before they chained him, but the guards pulled him roughly away and muzzled him before his lips could touch hers.    
    “Hey!” Celia cried, rushing past them to appeal to Thor.  “If _your guards_ had done a better job protecting us from attacks at the palace, we wouldn’t have had to run off in the first place!”  
    “That’s enough from you, Lady Celia,” Thor warned.  “What role you have played in Loki’s schemes, I do not know, but it is finished now.  You will come back to the palace until an escort can be arranged to return you to Earth.”  
    With that, Thor nodded, and Sif stepped forward with a sorrowful expression.  “I’m sorry to do this, truly I am,” she said, before securing shackles around Celia’s wrists.  
 

* * *

     
  
    Back at the palace, Loki was whisked away to the dungeons and Celia was led directly into the throne room.  Odin lectured her on the dangers of taking advantage of the diplomatic leniency he had previously shown her and strongly implied that she was not welcome back in Asgard at any point in the near or distant future.  
    “Hey, wait a minute!” Celia cut in, finally finding her nerve.  “You haven’t even asked what happened.  We didn’t do anything wrong!  We were attacked in the palace and we had to hide!”  
   _“You stole the Time Gem!”_ Odin bellowed.  
     _Oh yeah_ , Celia remembered.  _Yeah, we did do that.  Okay, our bad._   But she wasn’t about to get caught on that point.  
    “And where did _you_ get it?” she retorted.    
    “That is...that is _not_ the issue at hand!” the Allfather sputtered.  
    “Oh, no?  You claim to be the steward of all these powerful objects.  So you just want them to be safe, yeah?  Well, you should be _thanking us_ for taking the stone and for putting it where it is.  If we hadn’t, Thanos would probably have it right now.”  
   _“Where is it?”_  
    “In a safe place.”  
    Odin’s face was so red with anger, Celia half expected his head to spontaneously combust.  “Guards!  Take her away!”   
    With that, Celia was led none too gently up a stair, around a few corners.  She’d never seen this part of the palace and figured she was being locked up in a dungeon somewhere, so it took her by surprise when instead she was deposited into an airy sitting room.  The room was scattered with a few sofas clustered around fire pits and one entire wall opened to a balcony covered by silky, fluttering drapes.  It definitely wasn’t a dungeon.  Celia wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do or if she was supposed to be waiting for someone, so she just stood where the guards had left her.  
    After what felt like an eternity, Frigga entered the room.  “Celia, my darling girl, I am sorry for all of these...theatrics.  It’s just that my husband has been very concerned about all that’s happened and...  Oh, my dear what is this?  They’ve _shackled_ you?  Oh, no.  No, no.  Guards!”  
    The Queen stood by with a disapproving glare while the guards unshackled Celia.  Disapproval turned to outrage when she noticed the burns on Celia’s hands.  Celia was quick to reassure her that the burns had come by no ill treatment from Thor or the guards.  Frigga sent some maids for ointment and bandages, and then gave Celia a warm, comforting hug.  
    “Will you tell me what really happened?” she implored.  “If I know the truth I can find ways to make my husband understand, in his way.”  
    Celia didn’t see what she or Loki had to lose at this point.  She allowed herself to be nestled into some cushions and wrapped in a long shawl.  It was chilly in the large, open room and Celia still wore only Loki’s green shirt.  A cup of tea was pressed into her hand.    
    She decided to tell Frigga _nearly_ everything, skipping the specific details about her visions of Loki’s past and his dealings with Thanos.  That wasn’t hers to tell.  Loki could talk about what had been done to him when he was ready.  She also massaged the fact that she and Loki had always intended to take the stone.  For now, it was enough to say that Thanos had sent Sindri after them, and that with the very stone the boy had been sent to steal, they had been able to save themselves.   
    “Where is the stone now?” Frigga asked gently.  
    “I gave it to someone I know will keep it safe.  Please don’t ask me how I found her.”  
    “Will you tell me who she is?”  
    Celia hesitated, but she could think of no reason to lie.  “Death.  I had to,” she said, by way of answering the horrified expression on the Queen’s face.  “It was the only way.  Well, actually, it wasn’t the _only_ way.  Loki offered himself to her but...I couldn’t let that happen.”  
    Frigga blanched.  “How in the Nine Realms did you become entangled with Death?  Into what sort of danger did my son throw you?”  
    “No, it was nothing like that!” Celia insisted, resolutely shaking her head.  “It wasn’t Loki’s fault.  I should have listened to him, he warned me not to mess with the stone but I did anyway and I totally screwed up and...well, long story short?  Loki offered himself to save me.  But, like I said, I couldn’t let him do that.  The Time Gem will be safe with Death, though, won’t it?  I mean...she’s _Death_.”  
    Frigga put her hand over Celia’s.  “You have saved Loki in so many ways and I am so grateful.”  
    “Will they let me see him before they send me back?”  
    “They won’t even let me see him.”  
    Celia noticed something defiant in Frigga’s eyes that made her ask, “Does that stop you?”  
  



	25. The End of the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, FRIGGA FOR PRESIDENT

* * *

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”  
Mary Shelley, _Frankenstein_ , 1818

 

    Frigga’s hands, warm and soft, gently pressed against Celia’s forehead and covered her eyes.  “You will not physically enter the cell, you will be a projection of yourself,” the Queen explained.  The warmth of her hands intensified, and Celia’s head began to feel fuzzy.  She sighed.  Did all of these magical experiences have to make her so nauseous?  
    “Just empty your mind,” Frigga coached as the fuzzy heat began to travel down Celia’s neck and into her shoulders.  It felt like her body was dissolving.  Frigga’s voice grew muffled with static, and the fuzzy heat dissipated down into Celia’s belly.    
    Soon she could no longer feel her legs curled beneath her, nor the cushions she reclined against.  She couldn’t feel anything at all.    
    “Seelie?” said Loki’s voice, urgent and incredulous.  
    Celia opened her eyes.  She -- or, rather, her projection -- was in Loki’s cell.  He was sitting up on a narrow cot, looking in disbelief at Celia materializing before him.  
    “Hi,” she whispered.  “Are you okay?”  
    “Better now,” he said with a small smile.  “But, how are you here?”  
    “Your mother.  She’s pretty great.  You should be nicer to her.  She loves you.”  
    Loki’s smile faded.  “Is that what you came to tell me?”  
    “No.  Don’t be snotty, Lo.  I just needed to see you before they send me back.  When will we see each other again?”  Celia reached out to touch Loki but her hand went through his chest as though she were a ghost.  The realization that she would get no last embrace with Loki brought the angry sting of tears to her eyes.  She didn’t want him to see her cry so she turned away and pretended to be very interested in the bright white walls of his cell.  “Nice place you’ve got here,” she remarked wryly.    
    But the strain in her voice betrayed her tears.  
    “Seelie, please don’t cry.”  Loki instinctively reached for her, then balled his hands into fists when he remembered that he could not touch her.    
    “When will we see each other again?”  
    “I’ll find a way,” he promised.  “Soon.”  
    Celia turned to him, wiping tears from her cheeks.  “Quick, tell me what’s your favorite memory of us together.”  
    Loki furrowed his brow.  He thought for several moments, a grin growing wider across his face with every passing second as he replayed all of his cherished memories of being with Celia.  Finally he confessed, “I could not choose only one.”  
    Celia beamed at him.  “Okay.  So whenever you start to feel sad, just think of me asking you to pick your favorite memory of us together.  And try really hard to decide which one it is.  Think about all of them.  You can tell me what you figure out when we see each other again.  Got it?”  
    Loki put out his hands, desperately wanting to hold her, settling for letting them linger in the air before her.  “You are extraordinary.  I do love you,” he murmured.    
    Celia put out her hands so that their palms would have been touching, had she been present in the cell.  “I --”  
    But before she could finish saying to him, “I love you too,” her awareness of the cell abruptly fizzled away and she was back in the sitting room with Frigga.  
    “Hello, darling!” Frigga was greeting Thor, who apparently had just entered the room.  “I was just helping Celia to fix her hair.”  The Queen smoothed Celia’s hair back from her forehead and went to kiss her eldest son.  
    Celia put her hands to her chest.  She couldn’t breathe.  _It isn’t fair._ That had not been enough time to say goodbye and she had no idea when -- if -- she would ever see Loki again.  She hadn’t even been able to tell him that she loved him, maybe for the last time.  
   _It isn’t fair._  
    “Sif is waiting,” Thor informed them.  “She will escort Lady Celia back to New York.”  
    Frigga made Thor wait while her maids dressed Celia in a simple blue sheath dress and little silver slippers.  Celia stubbornly put Loki’s green shirt back on over the dress.  She was keeping it.  She couldn’t imagine that she’d ever be ready to take it off.  Not until she could give it back to him.  
    Insulated from the proceedings by her heartbreak, Celia mutely allowed herself to be led out of the palace and installed onto a horse behind Lady Sif.  She barely registered the magnificent rainbow bridge as they galloped toward the Bifrost.  She ignored Heimdall’s polite greeting, sighing and shrugging her shoulders when he asked if they were ready.    
    Sif put her arms around Celia.  “Hold onto me,” she instructed.  
    The Bifrost began to shift and turn as beams of light emanated from Heimdall’s sword at the center of the chamber, and then the light concentrated around them.  Celia reluctantly did as she was told moments before they were shot through space, hurtling toward Earth in a luminous beam.

* * *

  
  
     _Drink to me only with thine eyes...and...and...and I will drink-- no, vow?  What was it?_   Loki lay in his cot, desperately trying to remember the words to the poem, “Song to Celia,” that Celia had recited to him when he’d asked about her name during their walk through the woods.  He was trying to patch up the gaping hole in his heart with Celia’s suggestion that he choose his favorite moment of them together, reinforcing every small detail in his mind before adding it to the barricade.  _Perhaps there is a book of Midgardian poetry somewhere_.    
    Frustrated, Loki shifted his attention from the words of the poem to his memory of Celia herself in the woods: her silvery-gold hair glorious and wild and crowned with flowers, her constant darting about with her seemingly boundless exuberance.  Throwing him sideways smiles.      
    Then, that night at the inn.  She was his anchor in a sea of turmoil and torment.    
    And every night in the palace.  She wanted only him to comfort her.  Was his favorite moment when she asked him to unlace her nightgown?  It had been an intimate moment, not of seduction but of trust.  When she demanded that Thor allow them to visit one another?  That had not been the first time Celia had spoken up in defense of their...whatever it was they had between them.  Her shrewdness in the tafl game?  Teaching herself to read Allspeak?  She was so clever.  Was it the first time she kissed him?    
    Loki wished he could relive that particular moment a thousand times more because he had been so startled by her boldness, he felt that he had missed taking in every delicious detail of their first kiss.  
    He hoped there would be more kisses.  He hoped there would be more moments, that there would be an endless supply of them and he’d never be able to choose only one because he would be so submerged in them.  He had to be with her.  
    A vague shimmer in the corner brought his attention back to the cell.  
    “Hello, Mother,” Loki said, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.    
    “Loki,” Frigga’s projected image replied.  “How do you fare?”  
    Loki stood, opened his arms wide and turned in a circle.  “Everything in its place.  Locked away in a dungeon as I’m sure he always intended.”  
    “That isn’t fair.”  
    “Oh, good, have you come to discuss with me what is fair?  Wherever shall I begin?”  
    “I’m on your side, my darling.”  Frigga said wearily.  “I need you to hear what I have come to tell you.  If not for your own sake, then for hers.”  
    The mention of Celia hit Loki like a dagger to the heart.  _“Do not speak to me of her!”_ he lashed out.  And then he remembered Celia’s request that he show Frigga more kindness.  That Frigga had given them their chance to say goodbye, such as it was, and maybe the Queen really was on their side.    
    Loki flung himself back onto his cot and covered his face with his hands.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “Has she gone back?”  
    “She was escorted by Lady Sif.  The two of them struck up something of a friendship while Celia was here, so I have no doubt that Sif will take very good care of her.”  
    Loki nodded.  “Good,” he said through a few tears that began to fall.  He struggled to gain control over his emotions.  “That’s good.”  
    “Loki, listen to me,” Frigga said.  “Before all of this, you were meant to go to Midgard with your brother and work with his people there to develop for them some means of protecting themselves from...hostile overtures such as the one you were involved with.”  The Queen paused to make sure Loki was listening before she continued.  “I think it very important that they should carry out this task, because I do not believe it is any longer in anyone’s best interest for Asgard alone to enforce peace in the Nine Realms.  It too easily becomes subjugation, and I fear that it has made your father unduly draconian and paranoid.”  
    This declaration startled Loki.  He looked at his mother in alarm.  “What are you saying?  You advocate treason?”  
    “Of course not!  I am looking out for him.  For all of us.  You know his recent Odinsleeps have been deeper, more unpredictable.  He overreaches his rule in other realms.  It weakens him, but he will not listen to reason.  We must help him even if he doesn’t realize he needs it.”  
    “He won’t ever let me out of here.  He’s angry we took the stone.  What can I do?”  Loki shrugged.  “The stone is gone.”  
    “Celia told me what she did, and I think she was right to do it.  We endanger the Nine Realms with our hubris, keeping so many Infinity stones together in Asgard.  It was never meant to be this way.  The Time Gem belonged to Vanaheim, long ago before that realm was annexed by Asgard.”  
    Loki squinted at his mother’s image, trying to read between the lines of what she said simply by looking at her.  “What are you asking me to do, mother?”  
    Frigga crossed her arms.  “Nothing at all.  You hid the stone somewhere in the fortress, to keep it safe.  Mjøtuor as well.  Poor Celia, this has all been so traumatic for her.  She was quite confused about everything.  Magic is difficult to understand for one who was raised Midgardian.  She doesn’t realize that the locket she wears is an illusion, to deflect suspicion.  _Isn’t that so?_ ”  
    Loki’s face lit up with a genuine smile for his mother.  “Well...I am impressed.”  
    “Oh, please,” Frigga said, waving away Loki’s compliment.  “You needn’t think you invented manipulation and illusion, my darling.  Who taught you everything you know?”  
    “Yes, well, now that you mention it, I seem to recall that I hid the locket and the stone,” Loki paused, thinking for a moment, “behind a book.  On the history of Midgardian monarchies.”  
    Frigga pressed her hands together and closed her eyes.  After a moment she said, “Yes, there they are.  Someone ought to tell your brother you are ready to cooperate so he may go retrieve them and stow them safely in the vault.  And then the Allfather will release you from this cell and everything can be put behind us so you may proceed with your important duties on Midgard.  You will see her again.”

* * *

  
  
    The luminous beam of light from the Bifrost delivered Sif and Celia to the roof of Celia’s apartment building on East 8th street.  Residents and businesses for a four block radius noticed their windows and dishes rattle, and the police received no fewer than fifty-seven concerned calls reporting that there had been an earthquake, or a bomb, or a sonic boom of some kind.  A special news report cut into the Thursday evening television line-up to report that a sudden electrical storm had formed in the warm, moist air of the unusually hot November night and caused lightening to strike the roof of a building, but that no injuries or significant property damage had occurred.    
    Travel by Bifrost was fairly exhilarating and, Celia was relieved to find, nowhere near as nausea-inducing as being transported places magically.  The thrill of it almost made her forget her heartache.  
    “That was awesome!” she remarked after Sif made sure she was steady on her feet.  
    Sif smiled.  “Even after all this time, I still find it so, myself.”  
    The rooftop door into the building was locked.  Sif easily forced it open and indicated that Celia should go inside.       

    “Farewell, my friend,” Sif said, clapping Celia on the shoulder.  
    Celia frowned.  She hadn’t thought that she would simply be dropped off after everything that happened.  She was a little disappointed that she wasn’t going to have more time with Sif, whom she genuinely admired and counted as a friend.  Not to mention, Celia was half-afraid that when the Asgardian warrior left and she was finally alone, she would somehow wake up and find that everything had just been a vivid dream after all.  The thought of such a thing seemed more heartbreaking than not knowing when she’d see Loki again.  “You’re not coming in with me?” she asked sadly.  
    “I’m afraid not.  I must return.  Have no fear, Lady Celia, I assure you that it is perfectly safe.  But just in case, you ought to hold onto these.”  Sif pulled from a holster on her boot two of the throwing knives Hogun had given Celia.  “We found them in your room.  I thought you’d like to have them.”  
    Celia took the knives and held them to her chest.  “Thanks, Sif.  I’m going to miss you.  I hope we see each other again.”  
    Sif gave a coy little smile.  “The next time we meet, I want to see you knock the fleas off a bilgesnipe at twenty yards with those knives.  At least an hour of practice every day, no excuses.”  
    Celia nodded and blinked back tears.  She stretched up on her tiptoes to throw her arms around Sif’s neck.  “Bye,” she whispered.    
    Sif returned the embrace, then backed away until she stood in the center of the Bifrost pattern.  She looked up and said, “Heimdall?”    
    Celia leaned against the doorframe to watch the beam of light streak down from the sky.  When it receded, Sif was gone, and Celia was sure she had never felt more alone in her entire life.  Clutching a knife in each hand, she cautiously made her way inside and found the elevator to take her to the fifth floor.  
    She wondered whether the dead Chitauri soldier was still in her apartment, and if it was, how festering and gross it must be by now.  And if it was not still there, who might had been in her apartment.  The police?  The FBI?  _Which option is worse, a decomposing alien carcass or having to explain one to the cops?_  
    Celia was almost halfway down the hallway to her apartment before she realized that she didn’t have her keys.  Turning back to the elevator, she hoped that Mr. Dima was working the front desk tonight.  She could use a friendly face.    
    Dmitri Ulanov had been doorman in the building since before Celia was born.  He’d taught her to call him “Mr. Dima” because when she was just learning to talk she couldn’t say his name properly.  He always called her “Miss Seelie,” and she’d spent many afternoons perched on the corner of his desk talking about gymnastics (Mr. Dima had been a gymnast in his youth back home in Russia).  He kept an eye on her, especially since her parents died.  Along with Jenny, Mr. Dima was really the closest thing to family Celia had left.    
    As the floors ticked down, Celia grew slightly worried about what she would tell the watchful doorman to explain her sudden absence in the past week.  It was entirely possible that someone had called the cops about the scuffle with the Chitauri in her apartment.  It hadn’t exactly been quiet, her neighbors were sure to have noticed.  And then she had just disappeared.  She hadn’t been at work, and Jenny had probably called her a million times by now.  What if she’d been reported as missing?  
    Celia was so grateful to see Mr. Dima at the front desk that all of her worries faded when the elevator doors opened on the lobby.  She stashed her knives in a potted Ficus before running to the desk.  Mr. Dima dropped his magazine in surprise when he realized it was her.  
    “Hello Miss Seelie,” Mr. Dima said, a little confused.  “I not see you come in.  You are back from your trip?”  
     _My trip?_    
    “Your Uncle Phil and your pretty red-haired cousin have been here every day to check your mail and water your plants,” Mr. Dima continued.  “Nice man, that uncle.  Good suits.  I not know you had uncle.  And your cousin speaks Russian very well!  Anyway, he want you to call him.  I made promise I would make sure you call him.”  
    “I don’t...” Celia stopped herself from saying, _I don’t have an uncle_.  Who the hell was this Phil guy and how did he talk Mr. Dima into letting him take Celia’s mail and go into her apartment?  Had Death _not_ fixed the timeline?  A pretty cousin who spoke Russian?  Was this some alternate universe in which she _did_ have an extended family?  She had to get to the bottom of this Uncle Phil fellow, and Celia didn’t think it would be a good idea to alarm Mr. Dima by letting on that she didn’t actually know who the guy was.    
    Celia smiled.  “I, uh, don’t think I have Uncle Phil’s phone number.  I lost my phone, you know, and I don’t have anyone’s phone number memorized.  They were all in my contacts.  Did Uncle Phil leave his number with you?”  
    “Miss Seelie, no!  This is no good.  No good you rely only on phone.  You know my number for emergencies, yes?”  
    Celia dutifully recited Mr. Dima’s number while he shuffled through a drawer and produced a card, which he passed to her.  It read: _Phil Rogers, Vintage Trading Cards and Collectibles_.  Beneath that was a phone number with what Celia thought was a Brooklyn area code.  
    “Thanks.  Oh, and could you let me into my apartment?  Sorry, I also lost my keys.  Well, they aren’t lost, exactly,” Celia quickly thought of a lie that lent credibility to the one about her being on a trip.  Which _technically_ wasn’t a lie at all.  “The airline lost my bag.”  
    Mr. Dima looked critically at Celia and shrugged his shoulders, as if a lost bag explained the odd outfit she wore.  But before handing her a spare key he looked her in the eye said, “You tell Mr. Dima if you need something, yes?”  
    With a quick hug, Celia promised she would, then took the key and scurried back toward the elevator, surreptitiously retrieving her knives on her way past the planter.    
    When she got back to her apartment, Celia entered knives-out and ready to throw, middling-to-poor aim notwithstanding.  She couldn’t relax even once she was certain that no one else was in the apartment right then, because someone had definitely been there at some point.  And everything was so clean.    
     _Too_ clean.    
    Besides the obvious absent Chitauri remains and weapon, there were strange little things that put Celia on edge as she went from room to room.  The towels Loki had used to dry off after she’d pepper sprayed him in the face were now folded in a perfect stack on the countertop.  All of her shoes were lined up in a neat row by the coat rack.  Her bed was made with military precision, sheets tucked in so tightly at such right angles, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull them back to sleep in later.  
    Mystery clean freaks had also swept her parents’ bedroom.  The book that had kept vigil on her father’s bedside table, open to his page, had been shelved.  Celia was a bit stunned to realize that she didn’t mind.  That it was okay to put the book away, it didn’t erase her father if she didn’t save his page in perpetuity.  It felt strange to realize she’d made it over that particular hurdle of grief.  
    She _did_ mind, however, that the entire contents of her mother’s jewelry box were simply missing.  Even the hideous pavé parrot brooch.  That was going too far.  Celia was going to give this Phil Rogers a piece of her mind, she didn’t care who he was.  She found her phone and dialed the number printed on the card.  
    Someone picked up after only one ring and said, “Welcome home, Miss Andersen.”  
    “Uh, yeah, who the hell are you?”  
    “I know all this must be very overwhelming for you but...”  
    “Shut it, ‘Uncle Phil,’ whoever you are,” Celia interrupted.  “You broke into my apartment and took some important things that didn’t belong to you.  What, did you sell them in your collectibles shop?”  
    “Miss Andersen, I, uh, don’t actually run a collectibles shop.  Well, maybe one day.  But Phil Rogers is just a cover, we didn’t want your doorman getting involved.  I’m agent Phil Coulson with S.H.I.E.L.D.  It's my job to make sure these things stay...in their proper place.  You must understand, we couldn’t just let you keep the Chitauri tech, you aren’t authorized.”  
    Celia froze.  “How did you know what it’s called?”  
    Phil chuckled.  “It’s my job to know these things.  Just like I know you’ve been in Asgard.”  
     _“How do you know?”_  
    “Me and Thor, we’re old friends.”  
    “Yeah, right,” scoffed Celia.  Even though she was straining to hold her incredulity, she had no intention of cooperating with this agent Phil Whoever-he-was.  “I don’t believe you.  And Mr. Dima would never just let someone claiming to be my uncle into my apartment.  What did you do to him?”  
    “We have agents who can be very...persuasive.  But don’t worry.  We didn’t do anything to harm your doorman.”  
    Celia sighed.  _The pretty red-haired cousin who spoke Russian._   Her gut told her that Phil was telling the truth.  Because surely Mr. Dima would have mentioned if some thugs came and beat him up or something.  He wouldn’t just act like everything was fine, like she’d been on vacation.    
    “You know what?” she said finally.  “I really don’t care.  Just give me back my mother’s jewelry and you can eat the dead Chitauri for all I care.”  
    “Yes, I’m sorry about the jewelry.  We had to take it in for testing.  Didn’t find anything, though, and Asgard seems to have it under control now, so I don’t see why you can’t have it back.  I’ll send a courier to have it returned to you first thing in the morning.”  
    “See that you do.”  Celia was about to hang up when something else occurred to her.  “Oh, and agent, uh... Agent?  One more thing?”  
    “Yes?  Please, call me Phil.”  
    “Can you get in touch with people in Asgard?”  
    Phil paused.  “Yes.  Sometimes.”  
    “Can I send a message to someone there?  I just...want to ask --”  
    “About Loki?” Phil cut in.  “Miss Andersen, you don’t have to worry about Loki kidnapping you again.  I personally guarantee that we will keep you safe.”  
    “No, but, that’s not what I --”  
    “We will at some point in the near future need to interview you about your experiences in Asgard.  We’ll be in touch, so don’t leave town.  Not that we wouldn’t find you if you did, but it would just make things a lot easier.”  
    “No, Agent -- I mean, Phil, wait,” Celia sputtered.  
    “Oh, and call your friend Jenny Alvarez.  She’s been very worried.  Goodnight, Miss Andersen.”  And then the line went dead.  
    Celia stared at the phone for a moment and then tossed it aside.  She didn’t feel up to calling Jenny right now.  What would she say?  She could barely think.  Barely an hour ago she’d been in _another realm_.  
    And now she was back home, and it somehow felt _wrong_.  Celia had no idea how to proceed with normal life, or if she was even supposed to.  Shouldn’t it fundamentally change a person to discover that she was princess of another realm?  Celia had dabbled in the most extraordinary magic.  She’d inexplicably fallen in love with a thousand year old demi-god she might never see again.  He even loved her back.  Shouldn’t these experiences alter her forever?  That she’d _met Death_ and was given the choice to rearrange existence to reunite with her parents?  And that she’d chosen not to.  How could she go back to the way things were?    
    Celia decided that the only thing she could handle tonight was to curl up in a ball on her parents’ bed and give herself permission to just fall asleep.  She could begin unraveling this tangle in the morning.  
    Except her mind was too caught up in it.  _Was anything that happened even real?_  
     _I’m wearing Frigga’s dress and Loki’s shirt_ , she thought, hugging the fabric to herself.  _So I know it was real._  
_The knives.  And the locket.  I still have the locket._   Celia wrapped her fingers around the hemisphere at her throat and desperately reassured herself that she would somehow see Loki again.    
    She realized with a jolt that the metal no longer burned away her senses as it had when she fastened it around her neck before, when she wore it at the Norns’ or even the night she found it in the false bottom of the jewelry box.  _Is it broken?  Am I broken?_  
    She sat up and turned on the little lamp at the bedside table, then undid the chain from around her neck and held Mjøtuor under the light to inspect it.  _Maybe it only works if Loki’s here, since I gave it to him?_   Remembering the inscription carved on the inside of the locket, Celia wondered if it would make sense to her now.  Maybe it was a set of instructions?    
    With more difficulty than usual, she managed to pry it open.  The clasp was always difficult to work, but now it felt like something was also wrong with the hinge.  Angling the interior toward the light to see if it had been damaged, Celia noticed a bright gleam of orange.    
    A tiny shard of the Time Gem was wedged into the hinge of the locket.  
    Celia froze, now wide awake and balancing precariously on the knife-edge of panic.  Surely Death would not be pleased when she repaired the stone and found a piece missing.  
    But it was such a small piece.  A sliver really.  Maybe inconsequential?    
    But maybe enough of a fragment to still work?  
    Replacing the locket around her neck, Celia closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could on Loki.  She mentally pushed away the sounds of the city outside, the musty smell of the long-vacant bedroom, the pale light from the bedside table.  She searched for the feeling of burning.  _Lo, I love you._  
    And suddenly, there he was.  Or, rather, _she_ was _there_.  Practically standing right next to him.  
    Loki sat at a table with Thor, Odin, and a handful of people Celia didn’t recognize.  They were convened around a lit up 3-D model hovering above the table.  Judging from the way Thor kept gesticulating wildly at portions of it, causing Odin to roll his one eye and point emphatically at another, they seemed to be arguing over something.  Celia couldn’t tell for sure what the argument was about because a screeching static filled her ears, like she was an antenna picking up a weak, far-off signal.  
    She turned her flickering sight to Loki.  He wasn’t in chains, so that was an improvement, and he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, taking in the argument with a silent smirk until suddenly everyone at the table stopped and turned to him.  Loki shrugged in that infuriating way he had, tilted his head to one side as though considering the various positions, and leaned forward to direct a comment to Odin.  Celia wanted so desperately to touch him, to weave her fingers into his hair and kiss his neck and whisper his name.    
    And then, something appeared to startle Loki.  He flinched and looked behind him, bringing one hand to his neck in the exact place Celia had just imagined kissing him.  His eyes were searching, pleading.  Then he shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the 3-D model.    
     _He heard me!  He felt me!  I know he did!_  
    She watched Loki stand to reach the top of the 3-D model, to demonstrate something to the gathered company, and Celia realized that the model was none other than Stark Tower.  The logo was different now, but the big, ugly building was unmistakable.    
_Why are they talking about Stark Tower in Asgard?_  
    The brief moment that Celia spent absorbed in the question was just enough to break her concentration on Loki, and she lost the connection to his moment in Asgard.  Her parents’ bedroom filled her senses again, dousing the burn of the magic at her chest.    
     _Stark Tower.  Guess I know where I’m going tomorrow._   If the Asgardians had such elaborate plans for that building, they _must_ be in touch with the man himself.  So it was likely that Tony Stark was able to communicate with Asgard.  So, Celia was getting an audience with Stark if she had to storm the building with only her two little throwing knives and her iron will to go up against Iron Man.  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.  Celia would not sit idly by, waiting for Loki to come for her.  She was no damsel in distress.  She was princess of Vanaheim, and she would go to him.  She would find a way. 

    This was not over yet.      
  



	26. Epilogue - The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, THINGS are REVEALED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, cats and kittens! Thank you for reading this and I hope you will keep an eye out for the next installment! There is a sequel slowly but surely coming together.

* * *

“People who count their chickens before they are hatched act very wisely because chickens run about so absurdly that it’s impossible to count them accurately.”  
Oscar Wilde, May 1900

 

    It was well past five o’clock on a Tuesday, but the lobby of Stark Tower was still bustling with people.  They all seemed very busy and important as they crossed the marble floor with their long, purposeful strides, flowing to and from the elevator bays and staring at their tablets or Starkphones as they walked.  Celia still couldn’t understand how they didn’t crash into one another.    
    She sat on a bench and scanned the crowd.  She had long since given up on running into Tony Stark in the lobby of his massive midtown building; she’d been here every day for nearly two months and never seen him once.  He must have a private entrance.  Celia had given up on trying to find his private entrance, too -- _that_ nearly got her arrested for trespassing.  So now, when she came to stake the place out, she kept an eye out for the security guards who busted her.    
    Two months.  It had been almost two months since Asgard.  Since Loki.  In that time, there had been no communication between them.  Celia’s desperate and feeble attempts to use her shard of the Time Gem to reach him had not produced anything more effective than that first time, when he might have sensed her presence.  
    No word from Coulson either, despite dozens of messages Celia had left on the voicemail at his fake collectibles shop.  She would have started to disbelieve the whole thing ever happened were it not for the clothes she brought back with her.  She still slept in Loki’s shirt every night.  And her knives.  And the shard.  She still had the shard, even if she couldn’t seem to do much with it.  
    Which was not to say that she couldn’t do _some_ things.  Her latent gifts as a seer had been brought forth by the locket.  She’d touch someone and, if either Celia or the person she touched was experiencing a heightened state of emotion, she might catch some glimpse of their past or future.  It would have been a neat trick if it weren’t so unpredictable.  She had no ability to control it, and walking in crowded places -- like New York City in its entirety -- became difficult and a little scary.  If she wore the locket, she sometimes didn’t even have to touch a person to see things.  So, now she kept Mjøtuor stowed safely in her pink ballerina jewelry box, with the shard of the Time Gem still inside, all orange and useless as ever.  
    With nothing else to go on and nowhere else to turn, Celia knew that if she was ever going to see Loki again, she had to get in to see Tony Stark somehow.  That first morning after Celia had discovered that the Asgardians were working with Stark, she marched down to the building determined to speak with the man himself.  It hadn’t gone well.  
    “I need to see Tony Stark,” she’d explained when security stopped her at the elevators.  
    “Do you have an appointment?”  
    “No, but it’s _very_ important,” she said earnestly.  
    “Oh, well, if it’s _very_ important,” the guard replied, picking up a telephone.  
    “Really?  Thank you so much!”  
    “No, not really!  Get out of here!  You think we just let every crazy off the street up to see Mr. Stark?”  
    Celia had pleaded and cried, but they’d simply escorted her out to the sidewalk.  In hindsight, it hadn’t been a very good plan.  
    But she’d had some time to refine it and today she had a pretty good plan.  
    The guards at the security desk changed shifts over an hour ago.  Last week, Celia had observed a new guard working the evening shift.  A new guard who wouldn’t remember that time they called the cops on her.  A new guard who maybe she could charm and bully a little bit into giving her a visitor pass to get past the lobby?  Maybe?  It was worth a shot.  
    Celia stood and straightened the sharp gray suit she had bought special for this operation.  She had to look the part.  Mimicking the other busy and important people in the lobby, she clutched a leather briefcase in one hand and began resolutely scrolling on her phone as she strode up to the desk.  _Okay, it’s showtime._  
    She stood in front of the desk for a moment without looking up from her phone.  
    “Yes, miss, did you need something?” the new guard asked her.    
    Staring intently at the screen, Celia counted to three, then sighed, clicked the screen blank, and looked up with an apologetic smile.  
    “I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she said.  
    The guard -- his name tag read Miller -- returned her smile.  “It’s okay, happens all the time.”  
    “Um, I have an appointment with Mr. Stark at six,” Celia continued.  
    “Oh, okay,” Miller said, clicking around on the computer at the desk.  “I’ll just need your confirmation number and some ID.”  
    Celia had spent the past several weeks studying the procedure for acquiring a visitor pass at this desk, so today she had come prepared.  Taking a leaf from Coulson’s book, she handed Miller a fake business card.  It read “Celia Rogers, Independent Art Consulting, Inc.”  Then she dug around in the briefcase before arranging her face into an expression of panic.    
    “I cannot believe this.  I think I left my purse back at the office.”  
    Miller frowned.  “Uh-oh.  Do you have any other ID on you?”  
    Celia shook her head.  “Just my card, I’m afraid.”  
    Miller pursed his lips as he stared at the card.  “What’s your confirmation number?”  
    “I was just looking for it in my email but I couldn’t find it.  Let me call my assistant, I think she forgot to forward it to me.”  Celia scowled at her phone and pretended to make a call.  After a few moments, she pretended to hang up and sighed again.  “I swear, my assistant is _the worst_.  I guess she’s gone home already.  Probably bolted at four fifty-nine.  Can you look up my confirmation number?  Please...?”  She brought a smile back to her lips and turned the dazzle up a few notches.  
    Miller looked a little nervous.  This was not the protocol for visitors, especially visitors to see Mr. Stark.  Sensing his hesitation, Celia batted her eyelashes.  She’d been practicing this in the mirror, perfecting a credible ratio of allure and distress.  Then she leaned forward on the desk so her hair spilled onto it and the neckline of her silk blouse fluttered.    
    “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t the way it’s done,” she said.  “But we had such a difficult time scheduling this appointment and I would hate to cancel on Mr. Stark last-minute because I forgot my purse.  I’m just...I’m really having _a day_ , you know?”  _Pause.  Cutesy sniffle for good measure.  Just like I practiced._   “And my assistant is kind of new so all my appointments have been just a mess and my boss will _kill me_ if I lose Mr. Stark as a client.  If you could help me, well you would just be _my hero_.”  
    Eager to be this pretty girl’s hero, Miller flashed her a reassuring grin.  “Don’t worry Ms Rogers, we’ll get you sorted.”  He typed her fake name into the computer and his grin melted.  
    “Is there a problem?” asked Celia.  
    “I probably just typed your name wrong.”  Miller carefully re-typed “Celia Rogers” and knitted his brow as he peered at his monitor.  Then he peered again at the fake business card.  “Just sit tight, I better go ask the supervisor.”  He began to get out of his chair.  
    Celia did not want to involve supervisors.  “No, wait!  I mean, you have been so great, thank you for helping me with this.  I’m sure my assistant must have screwed things up somehow.  She’s my boss’s cousin so she doesn’t really know what she’s doing.  Nepotism, right?  But I’m going to get nailed if I’m late to this appointment and it’s just six now.  Is there any way at all that you could let me up and maybe we can look into things with your supervisor on my way out?”  
    Miller paused.  He was new at his job, too, and unlike Ms Rogers’s made-up flaky assistant, he didn’t get it through nepotism.  It was a way better job than his old one parking cars near the airport, and Miller wanted to hold onto it.  Would it be better for him to follow protocol to the letter, or take initiative so Mr. Stark wasn’t kept waiting?    
    Celia let two fat teardrops fall off her cheeks.  And that settled it.  Miller wanted to be the kind of guy who took initiative, to replace these tears with the thousand-watt smile she’d treated him to only a moment ago.  “I can’t just let you up, but I could call Mr. Stark’s office and ask them to verify your appointment.  And then they can let Mr. Stark know you’re here, so you wouldn’t get in trouble for being late.”  
    Celia considered this option.  It hadn’t been part of her plan, but she decided to go for it.  _The first rule of improv is to always agree, right?_   “Okay, great,” she said.  _And the second rule is to add on_.  “And make sure you tell them that my boss, _Phil Coulson_ , was very insistent that I see Mr. Stark this evening.”  Name dropping Coulson was a risk, but if Stark was involved in all this inter-realm business, maybe it would help.  
    Before Miller could even finish dialing the phone, a man standing at the other end of the desk looking through some paperwork said, “You work for Coulson?”  His tone was strained, his eyes boring into Celia with the intensity of a hawk.  
   _Uh-oh._   Celia pretended to look for something in her bag to avoid the man’s gaze.  “Um...yes.”  
    “ _Phil_ Coulson?” the man pressed.    
    Celia gave a curt nod.    
    “S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Phil Coulson?”  
     _Dammit._   Celia could feel her plan unraveling.  Who was this guy?  She turned to glare at him.  There was a S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on his jacket.    
    “Do you know Phil?” she said, exasperated.    
    “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Phil Coulson is dead.”  He really did look genuinely sorry.  Sad, even.  
     _Dead?  Coulson is dead?  Well that explains why he never called me back..._ “When did he die?” Celia asked, feeling very guilty for all the times in the last two months she’d left angry voicemails at his fake collectibles shop.    
    “In the Invasion,” the man said.  “Just this past summer.”    
    Celia shook her head.  “We must be talking about different Phil Coulsons then.  I talked to him two months ago.”  
    The man stared at her in disbelief.  “Two months ago?”  
    When Celia faltered, stumbling over the lie she couldn’t think up fast enough, the man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into an empty corner.  A wave of his past washed over Celia like a tsunami.  
     _Guilt._   So many S.H.I.E.L.D agents dead.  It’s all his fault.  
     _Rancor._   He won’t feel safe again until he’s put an arrow through Loki’s eye socket.  
    Celia tried to shake the visions out of her head, but the sinking realization of the man’s identity weighed them down in her mind.  
    Miller ran after them.  “Agent Barton, what are you doing?”  
    Barton glared at Miller.  “I’ll take it from here, New Guy.”  He then turned to Celia.  “What do you know about Phil Coulson?  What do you mean you saw him two months ago?”  
    “You’re hurting my arm,” Celia said through clenched teeth, pulling her arm from his grasp and cutting off the visions.  Haughtily, she straightened her blazer and said, “Coulson came to my apartment.”  
     _“Why?”_  
    Celia crossed her arms.  “Why should I tell you?”  
    “Barton, what the hell are you doing?”  A petite, red-haired woman approached them.  She carried a stack of files with Cyrillic letters across the top.    
    Could it just be a coincidence?  _The pretty redheaded “cousin” who talked in Russian to Mr. Dima?_   Only, she would obviously know that Phil Coulson was alive two months ago if she’d been _that_ redhead.  Celia decided to play the possibility, one last card up her sleeve.  At this point she had nothing to lose.  
    “Ask _her_ about it,” Celia said, inclining her head toward the woman.  “I’m pretty sure she was with him when he came to my place.  Does she by any chance speak Russian?”  
    Now Barton looked even more hurt and angry.  “Really, Natasha?  Coulson?  And you _didn’t tell me?_ ”    
    Natasha kept her face perfectly neutral, as though she hadn’t heard Barton’s question.  “What are you doing here, Celia?”  
    This caught Celia off guard.  Since when was this woman on a first name basis with her?  She didn’t want to waste this opportunity quibbling over familiarity, so she got right to the point.  “I need to talk to Tony Stark.”  
    “Why?”  The mask dissolved from Natasha’s face.  She looked worried.  “What happened?”  
     _“What the hell is going on, Natasha?”_ Barton demanded, putting himself between the two women to redirect the conversation back to the urgent question of Phil Coulson.    
    Celia tapped Barton on the shoulder with her phone to get his attention.  “Take me up to see Stark and I’ll tell you everything.”  
    Barton looked at Natasha.  She shrugged.  “We were going to bring her in soon anyway.  He has some questions for her.”  
    “Why does no one tell me _anything?_ ” Barton grumbled, stalking toward the elevators.    
    Celia could not believe her luck.  She figured the “he” Natasha mentioned must be Coulson, and she was thrilled he wanted to ask her some questions.  That meant she had something to use as a bargaining chip.  They wanted to know things she knew?  Great, she wanted communication with Asgard.  Surely an arrangement could be made.  
    Celia followed the agents past the elevators that everyone was using, excited that she was finally going to get a glimpse of Tony Stark’s private entrance, when they turned down what looked like a dingy service corridor.   After several yards, Natasha popped open a panel next to a heavy door marked “Maintenance” and punched a code into a keypad, then leaned in with her eyes wide for a retina scan.  She pulled open the door and they stepped into a large freight elevator, which scanned each of them from head to toe with a bright light before lurching upward.  
    The spacious elevator felt claustrophobic, crowded by the hushed tension between the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.  Celia wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself as they ascended.  “I would have thought the private elevators here would be a lot fancier,” she remarked, more to fill the gaping silence than to any constructive purpose.    
    “Does anyone else know?” Barton asked tersely.  
    “No.  And I need you to keep it that way for now,” Natasha replied, turning to look at him.  “I promise I’ll explain everything to you, Clint.  Later.”  
    “I can’t believe you’d keep this from me Nat.  Of all things, _this_.”  
    “It’s important.  He asked me to.”  
    Barton stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched so tightly Celia was afraid he’d crack a tooth.  He refused to look at Natasha, to acknowledge the contrite expression on her face.  She sighed and checked what appeared to be a very souped up Starkphone.  
    “What about me?” Celia asked Natasha.  “I know about Coulson, too.  I talked to him on the phone.”  
    Natasha turned, fixing Celia with an icy glare.  “And you’ll keep that to yourself if you know what’s good for you.”  
    Nonplussed, Celia crossed her arms.  This Natasha person had another thing coming if she thought she could intimidate Celia with a glare and a vague threat.  After dealing with the likes of Death herself, the super-spy’s intimidation tactics barely registered.  “Self-preservation isn’t my best skill,” Celia said sarcastically.  “But if you help me get what I need then I’m sure I’ll have an easier time remembering to keep things to myself.”  
    “I’ll remind you,” Natasha snapped, just as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.  The agents led Celia down yet another dark, nondescript hallway and deposited her into a conference room that was so state-of-the-art it seemed wholly incongruous with the route they’d taken to arrive there.  After ordering Celia to stay put and not touch anything, Natasha slipped out of the room with Barton.    
    From her seat at the long oval table, Celia stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking midtown Manhattan and tried to compose her specific demands in her mind before anyone arrived to question her.  She had been so preoccupied with _getting in_ that she’d neglected to clarify her goals even to herself beyond the single-minded drive to speak with or see Loki.  But Celia did not get the sense that she could simply ask that of Phil Coulson or Tony Stark or the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who’d intercepted her in the lobby.  Their experiences with Loki had not been exactly favorable and it would take far too much explaining for them to understand why she wanted to see him.  
    Celia had only just decided to simply ask for a line of communication with someone other than Loki at the palace in Asgard, someone she knew would be sympathetic to her situation, when the door swung open.  A mocking voice said, “So, you’re _Lady Celia, Princess of_...I forget.  Some place I’ve never heard of.”  
     _What an obnoxious thing to say..._ The voice was not Phil Coulson’s, which Celia would know anywhere after hearing it on the fake collectibles shop voicemail about a hundred and fifty-seven times.  But this voice wasn’t entirely unfamiliar.  It took her a moment to place it, and then Celia slowly swiveled around in her chair.  She looked the owner of the voice up and down.  “So, you’re Tony Stark.  I thought you’d be taller.”  
    This observation clearly annoyed the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.  Stark crossed his arms over his faded Black Sabbath t-shirt.  “I’m sorry, did you want something?”  
    “I need to talk to someone at the palace in Asgard.”  
    Stark blinked, his brow furrowing with disapproval, or suspicion, or possibly both.  
    “I know you’re working with them on something,” Celia continued.  “So don’t bullshit me.  You _can_ communicate with them, can’t you?”  
    “With some of them, yeah.  Any Asgardian in particular you wanted?”  
    Celia thought this over for a moment.  “Frigga, ideally.”  
    This was apparently not the answer Stark was expecting.  His eyes searched the room as though an explanation would be written on the walls somewhere.  “Frigga, as in, _Thor’s mom?”_  
    “Yes.”  
    “You want to talk to Thor’s mom?”  
    “Is that a problem?”  
    Stark sighed and took a phone out of his pocket.  He hit a few buttons and held it to his ear, looking right at Celia like she had serious issues beyond his comprehension.  “Yeah, this is so not my problem,” he said to whomever he’d just called.  “This sounds more like _your_ problem.  And when you’re done, let Nat know because then it’s her problem.”  
    Celia narrowed her eyes.  “Who was that?  What do you mean I’m Nat’s problem?”  
    Tony shoved his phone back into his pocket and grinned.  “Well, apparently you’re the princess of somewhere or another, and you’re attracting all the big baddies back to the neighborhood.  I guess Agent Romanov drew the short straw because she’s been assigned the _really fun job_ of keeping tabs on you.  Which, from what I understand, mostly involves watching you sulk in my lobby.”  
    “Wait...how do you know all that?  About the princess thing?”  
    “Well, you weren’t wrong.  I am in touch with Thor.  He filled us in.”  
    “What else did he tell you?”  
    “That you got awfully cozy with his homicidal maniac porcupine of a brother.  And that we shouldn’t trust you.”  
    This declaration brought Celia to her feet in outrage.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and neither does Thor!”  
    A resounding knock at the door cut off Stark’s response.  “Oh, good,” Stark said, reaching back to open it.  “Well, take it up with Prince Shinylocks, _Your Highness_.  I have work to do.”  He patted Thor on the shoulder and swept out of the room.    
    Celia stood in disbelief as Thor approached her.  He was real.  He was real and so all of it had to be real and Celia was so grateful for this that she ran to Thor and threw her arms around his neck.  “I was so scared I’d never see any of you again,” she said.  “Where is Loki?  Is he okay?”  
    Thor politely patted Celia on the back and then stepped away from her, indicating that she should have a seat at the table before taking one himself.  
    “Loki is well,” he said shortly.  Then he sighed and placed his hands on the table, staring at them intently as he worked to gather his thoughts.  He looked at Celia, opened his mouth to speak, then sighed again and looked back at his hands.  
    “What is it?” she asked.  This was making her anxious.  
    “I wish you would help me to understand what has happened.”  Thor’s expression was serious and imploring as he continued.  “My mother insists that Loki deserves no further punishment for his crimes here, and that his actions during his time with you were entirely noble and should more than atone for his past misdeeds.  But she will not explain how she knows these things, and though I very much want to believe she speaks the truth, I am left with many questions.  I believe you have answers.”  
    “Thanos would have the locket and the Time Gem, and who knows what he would have done with me, if it hadn’t been for Loki.  You have to believe me.  Loki helped me.”  
    Thor shook his head.  “I know my brother.  It is not in his nature to be selfless.  What did he get out of this?”  
      _“Nothing!”_ Celia cried.  “He got nothing out of it.  He got thrown in prison by _you_ for his trouble.  Did you ever stop to think that the reason you always see him as the bad guy is because you only let yourself see him that way?  You go looking for it.  You’re right, there is so much more to Loki than what you know, but you just assume that it’s all bad.  Why can’t you give him a chance sometimes?”  
    “Because he has twice tried in earnest to kill me.  He once very nearly succeeded.  And while I know that there was some force acting upon him when he invaded Earth, that his actions here may not have been his own, he has no such excuse for the way he behaved in the wake of my banishment, when he brought Frost Giants into Asgard.”  
    At this, images of Loki’s past flashed through Celia’s mind.  She knew exactly what Thor was talking about, and even she had to admit that Loki had behaved inexcusably when he’d sent the Destroyer to New Mexico.  “I’m not saying he’s entirely innocent, but what can he do if you won’t give him a chance to prove he can change?”  
    Thor’s blue eyes searched her for a long moment before he gave a little smile.  “You sound like I used to, always defending him.  I sincerely hope he deserves your affection, Lady Celia.  I am not always sure he deserved mine.  I cannot fully trust him, nor you by association, because I know well how affection for him can blind one to the truth.”  
    He sounded so pained as he said this, it prompted Celia to reveal more than she meant to.  But she needed Thor to understand.  “I was supposed to give him the locket in exchange for...”  She paused and started over, not wanting to get into the part where she tried to defy Death.  “Loki said he could help me use the locket.  You have to understand what a shock it was for me, finding it and learning what meant with no one to answer all the questions I had.  Like, surprise!  Chitauri!  Norse gods!  Magic!  You’re someone completely different from who you thought you were!  You know?  I mean, I guess you don’t know.  But Loki knew.”  
    Thor was nodding as Celia spoke.  She took this as a good sign and continued.  “The locket scared me when I put it on.  It actually burned me.  And what do I know about magic? _But Loki knew_.  I just wanted to know about my own past, my family’s past, to see who I was and where I came from.  There isn’t anyone I can ask.  So I tried to use the locket to see but at the last minute, I got really scared and grabbed Loki’s hand.  And so I saw his past instead of my own.”  
    Thor stopped nodding, his body tensed.  “You saw Loki’s past?  All of it?”  
    “Everything.  Sometimes as an observer.  Sometimes as Loki.”  Celia reached forward, urging Thor to believe her.  “You have no idea the horrors he’s been through.  And I’m sorry, I know you want answers, but they are not all mine to give.  I promised him.  Maybe he’s talked about it with your mother, maybe that’s why she wants you to be lenient with him now.  He’ll tell you when he’s ready, when he trusts you.”  
    This startled Thor, who was used to being on the other side of the broken trust between himself and his brother.  He wanted nothing more than to feel able to forgive Loki, suspecting as he did that something terrible had happened to his brother after the fall that forced his hand to invade Midgard.  And here was Celia confirming it.  But why would Loki keep it a secret?  Who, then, was responsible for the attack on New York?  “Is there nothing more you can reveal to me?” Thor asked.  “Any small thing would help.”  
    Celia considered this, as eager to help Thor reconcile with Loki as she was to protect the secrets Loki entrusted to her.  “Let me put it this way,” she said finally.  “Do you honestly think I’d be defending him if I didn’t know with certainty that there was nothing he could have done to stop it?”  
    “Loki has many tricks and illusions at his disposal, I know _that_ with certainty,” said Thor slowly.  “But I do not believe he could meddle with magic as ancient as your ancestral heritage.”  
    Celia’s eyes lit up.  “So you believe me?”  
    Thor sighed.  “I’d like to discuss things with the Queen.  But you make a compelling argument, and I admit I am grateful Loki has someone like you to care for him so deeply.”  
    “But it means you don’t trust me?”  
    Sidestepping this question, Thor said, “I return to Asgard tomorrow to retrieve Loki and bring him here.  Tony Stark has been working with us to develop some means for Earth to defend itself more capably, should the need arise again.  Loki has been pledged to assist these efforts.”  
    “What do you mean?”  Celia was trying not to get her hopes up.  Loki was coming to New York?  Could this really be happening?  It was a thousand times better than asking Frigga to be her go-between.  
    “There are some occasions when Loki’s tricks and illusions are useful,” Thor replied.  “The task of creating realistic and functional simulations is far too great for Stark alone to undertake in such a short time.  We need Loki here.”  
    Reading between the lines, Celia glowered at Thor.  “So you’re bringing him here to _use him for target practice?”_  
    Thor laughed.  “You have my word he will not be harmed overmuch.”

* * *

  
  
    The Queen of Asgard stood tall and fearless in the cold, bleak chamber, staring imperiously at the Mistress of Hel.  Hela, likewise, assumed a regal posture, but refused to return the stare.  Instead, she inspected her nails as though she was thoroughly bored by this conversation.  Frigga needn’t think she could come into Hela’s domain and force an audience until Hela was good and ready to give it.  
    “I know of the deal you struck with my son,” Frigga said.  “I know you want him to fail.  I will do everything in my considerable power to ensure he succeeds.  And so I am here as a courtesy to you.  I am sure we can find a mutually beneficial addendum to the deal you made with him.  I am giving you an opportunity.  Do not squander my generosity.”  
    Hela reached for a goblet.  She stared at Frigga as she sipped, and did not offer the Queen a drink of her own.  What right had Frigga to the hospitality of Hel?  What right had she to come here and make demands?  
    “He has already lost more than fifty days,” Hela pointed out.  “And still you keep him locked away in Asgard.”  
    Frigga pressed her mouth into a taut line.  “That is none of your concern.”  
    Hela laughed.  “Perhaps not, but it is certainly yours.  We both know you would never deign to pay me a visit, to bargain with me over my bargain with Loki, if you were not concerned.  Spare us both this posturing and tell me why you are here.  Your _generosity_ is not the reason.”  
    “He is my son,” Frigga said simply.    
    “And you have need of him,” Hela prompted.   
    “I need for him to have more time.”  
    “No.”  
    Frigga crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes.  “It was my oversight that led to him seeking you out for a deal.  Do not punish him for it.”  
    “Perhaps you ought to be more careful in future endeavors,” Hela taunted.  
    The Queen of Asgard would not rise to the bait of this dark creature.  Taking a deep breath, Frigga relaxed her face and smoothed her dress.  “Very well,” she said, her tone conciliatory.  “We shall have to make do.  I have brought things this far.  I do not need your assistance.  As I said, I only came to you out of courtesy.  But no matter.  Farewell.”  The Queen moved to retreat back into the shadows.  
    “It was you,” Hela called after her.  “You placed the girl with the locket before him.  The lost princess.  It was you who showed him the way.  Why?  What is happening in the Nine Realms to incite Odin’s placid, smiling consort to these machinations?”  
    Frigga turned and said over her shoulder.  “Nothing.  Yet.  And that is why Loki must succeed.”  
    But Hela knew there was more than nothing behind Frigga’s schemes.  “His last Odinsleep was rather close,” she recalled, determined to pull a full explanation from the Queen.  “The barrier near permeable.  I could almost touch him.  It was tempting...”  
    “Then you know why.  The Allfather was never meant to rule all Nine Realms.  First Vanaheim, I fear soon Midgard.  It weighs too heavily on him, in ways he cannot grasp.  It upsets the balance, the harmony of the realms, and in so doing, in him as well.”  
    Hela nodded knowingly.  “I like war.  But you speak of consequences far more dire.”  
    Turning back to face the Mistress of Hel, Frigga allowed humility and hope to infuse her voice as she asked, “Then you will help me?”    
    Hela gestured for her handmaiden to bring Frigga a goblet of wine.  “I will help you.  Not for nothing, but we will make a deal.”  
    “Thank you.”  The Queen of Asgard raised her glass and toasted the Mistress of Hel and their secret alliance to save the Nine Realms.  
   


End file.
